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ianring  mh  BmaxB  nf  ©nliag 


Photo,  by  White,  N.  Y. 

ANNA  PAVLOWA  AND  MIKAIL  MORDKIN  IN  "THE  LEGEND  OF  AZYIADE  " 


ianring  mi 

The  Modern  Revival  of  Dancing 
as  an  Art 

BY 

CAROLINE  AND 
CHARLES  H.  CAFFIN 

WITH  NUMEROUS  ILLUSTRATIONS 


>  1   >  J 
«  >j  >  > 


NEW  YORK 


1912 


C7' 


COPTRIOHT,  1919, 

By  DODD,  mead  &  COMPANY 


Published,  October,  1912 


THE  FRIENDS  WHOSE  INTEREST  IN  THE 

EXPRESSIONAL  INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  DANCE 

HAS  ENCOURAGED  US  TO  WRITE  THIS  BOOK 


ivi?9831 


aimtmU 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  INTRODUCTION        .      .      .      .      .      o,     .,     .....       3 

II  ORIGIN  OF  THE  DANCE  ..........     16 

III  ISADORA  DUNCAN 46 

IV  MAUD  ALLAN 70 

V     RUTH    ST.    DENIS 82 

VI     EVOLUTION  OF  THE  BALLET 98 

VII     CLASSICAL   BALLET 112 

VIII     GENEE 128 

IX     RUSSIAN   DANCE-DRAMA 146 

X     MORDKIN 180 

XI     PAVLOWA 197 

XII     SACCHETTO 214 

XIII  COURT    DANCES 229 

XIV  WEISENTHAL 244 

XV     ECCENTRIC  DANCING 255 

XVI     FOLK  DANCING 280 


MlnBtvnttanB 


Anna  Pavlowa  and  Mikail  Mordkin  in  "The  Legend  of 

Azyiade" Frontispiece 

Mikail  Mordkin Page       5 

Incident  detail  in  the  Dance-Drama  of  "Sheherazade" 

Russian  Dancers "11 

Lydia  Lopoukowa  and  Mikail  Mordkin "17 

Ruth  St.  Denis  in  her  Incense  Dance "23 

Alexis  Bulgakow  as  Shah-riar  and  the  Odalisques  in  the 

Dance-Drama    "Sheherazade" "29 

Anna  Pavlowa  and  Mikail  Mordkin "35 

Scene  from  the  Ballet  "Le  Lac  des  Cygnes"   ...  "39 

Isadora  Duncan "47 

Lydia  Lopoukowa  and  Mikail  Mordkin "57 

Ruth  St.  Denis  as  Radha  in  the  Dance  of  the  Five  Senses  "       63 

Maud  Allan  in  "Moments  Musicals" "71 

Maud  Allan  in  Her  "Dance  of  Salome" "77 

Ruth  St.  Denis  in  Her  Temple  Dance "83 

Ruth  St.  Denis  as  Radha.  Temple  Dances  ....  .  "  89 
Ruth  St.  Denis  in  the  Dance  of  the  Five  Senses,  of  the 

Temple  Dances "95 

Ruth  St.  Denis  in  the  Nautch  Dance "101 

Scene  from  the  Ballet  "The  Legend  of  Azyiade"  .  .  "107 
Lydia  Lopoukowa  and  Alexander  Volinine  in  the  Ballet 

"Les  Sylphides."     Russian  Dancers "113 

Mile.  Katarina  Geltzer,  of  the  Russian  Imperial  Ballet  .  "119 

Group  from  the  Ballet  "Le  Lac  des  Cygnes"  ....  "123 

Adeline  Genee  in  the  "Silver  Star" "129 

Adeline  Genee  in  her  "Hunting  Dance"  .....  "135 

Adeline  Genee  in  her  "Empire  Dance" "     141 

Dance-Drama  of  "Cleopatra."     Arrival  of  Cleopatra  at 

the  Shrine.     The  Russian  Dancers "147 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Dance-Drama  of  "Sheherazade."  Shah-riar's  Revenge. 
The  Russian  Dancers 

Maria  Baldina  as  Ta-hor  in  the  Dance-Drama  of  "Cleo- 
patra"     

Theodore  Kosloif  as  Amoun  in  the  Dance-Drama  "Cleo- 
patra."    The  Russian  Dancers 

Gertrude  Hoffman  as  "Zobeide"  and  Alexis  Bulgakow  as 
"Shah-riar"    in    the    Dance-Drama    "Sheherazade" 

Lydia  Lopoukowa  in  the  Dance-Drama  "Sheherazade." 
The  Russian  Dancers 

Anna  Pavlowa  and  Mikail  Mordkin  in  a  "Bacchanale"  . 

Mikail   Mordkin 

Lydia  Lopoukowa  and  Mikail  Mordkin 

Anna  Pavlowa  in  a  "Bacchanale" 

Anna  Pavlowa 

Anna  Pavlowa 

Rita   Sacchetto  in  the   "Crinoline  Dance"    .... 

Rita  Sacchetto  in  her  "Spanish  Dance" 

"A  Pavane"  arranged  by  Murray  Anderson  .... 

Gavotte  in  modern  costume  by  Miss  Margaret  Crawford 
and  Murray  Anderson 

Grete  Wiesenthal  in  Liszt's  Hungarian  Rhapsody  . 

Grete  Wiesenthal  in  Liszt's  Hungarian  Rhapsody  . 

Incident  Detail  in  the  Dance-Drama  of  "Sheherazade." 
The  Russian  Dancers 

Theodore  Kosloff  as  Favourite  Arab  of  Zobeide  in  the 
Dance-Drama   of    "Sheherazade" 

Anna  Pavlowa  and  Mikail  Mordkin  in  a  "Bacchanale" 

Children  of  the  Public  Schools  Dancing  Italian  Taran- 
tella at  Annual  Fete  of  the  Public  Schools  Athletic 
Lieague 

Adeline  Genee  in  her  "Butterfly  Dance" 

An  Interpretation  of  Strauss'  "Voices  of  Spring,"  ar- 
ranged by  Miss  Beegle  for  the  Children's  Symphony 
Concert 


Page  153 

159 

165 

171 

177 
181 
187 
191 
199 
203 
209 
215 
223- 
231 

239 
245 
251 

257 

265 

273 


281 
289 


"     297 


ianrittg  wxh  ianr^rs  af  ©nbag 


CHAPTER  I  : 

INTRODUCTION  /*•  / 

TODAY,  in  America,  we  have  awakened  to  the  con- 
sciousness that  dancing  may  be  something  more  than 
a  form  of  social  amusement  in  ballrooms,  or  of  gym- 
nastic exercise  on  the  stage.  We  are  taking  a  keen  interest 
in  the  Art  of  the  Dance. 

By  way  of  contrast  the  memory  goes  back  some  twenty 
years  to  the  World's  Fair,  at  Chicago.  Among  the  special  en- 
tertainments, planned  for  the  visitors,  was  a  certain  "Congress 
of  Dancers."  Congresses,  religious  and  otherwise,  were  a 
feature  of  the  Fair ;  for  the  public  was,  or  was  supposed  to  be, 
in  serious  quest  of  edification  and  instruction.  Accordingly, 
some  genius  with  an  advertising  sense  borrowed  the  term  for 
this  night's  attraction;  which  was  neither  more  nor  less  than 
a  "giant  aggregation"  of  all  the  various  dancers  who  were  en- 
livening in  detail  the  Midway  Plaisance.  As  a  special  feature, 
to  represent  the  American  ideal  of  dancing,  the  management 
had  engaged  a  child  prodigy. 

One  after  another  the  groups  occupied  the  floor  of  the  large 
hall,  and  in  each  dance  there  was  some  inspiring  motive.  Some- 
times it  was  only  a  physical  impulse,  uncouthly  expressed,  as  in 

[3  ] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

the  case  of  the  Senegambians.  At  the  other  end  of  the  scale, 
m  the  JTapp,^^^  Cherry  Blossom  Dance,  was  revealed  the  most 
sensitive  spiritual  appreciation  of  beauty.  Between  these  the 
lajige^of  ^QXprcGsioii  seemed  as  varied  as  human  emotion. 
There  passed  in  review  the  mystic  devotion  or  savage  fierce- 
ness of  the  aboriginal  Indian;  the  joy  of  physical  well-being  in 
the  seated  dances  of  the  South  Sea  Islanders ;  the  sensuous  al- 
lurement and  tantalising  coyness  of  the  Bedouin  Arabs;  the 
haughty  coquetry,  sombre  aloofness  or  passionate  abandon  of 
the  Spaniards ;  the  mild  plaintive  melancholy  of  the  Cingalese ; 
the  reckless  gaiety  or  childish  vanity  of  the  Coon  ragtime. 
These  and  many  others,  each  with  a  soul  of  its  own,  expressed, 
sometimes  beautifully,  sometimes  grotesquely,  its  own  ideal—* 
until  it  came  to  the  American. 

For  now  appeared  a  child,  graceful,  but  mechanical;  well 
trained,  yet  with  an  automaton-like  precision,  unspontaneous, 
unresponsive.  In  each  hand  she  carried  an  American  flag, 
and  what  she  danced  is  best  described  as:  "One,  two,  three, 
kick!  One,  two,  three,  kick,"  just  as  high  as  the  little  leg  could 
go.  Then  again,  "One,  two,  three,  kick;  two  to  the  right  and 
wave  the  right-hand  flag;  two  to  the  left  and  wave  the  left-hand 
flag  I" 

Was  the  child  enjoying  it?  Apparently  not.  Did  she  care 
for  the  flag?    Well,  if  so,  she  did  not  show  it.     Was  there  any 

[  4  ] 


Photo,  by  White,  N.  Y. 


MIKAIL   MORDKIN 


INTRODUCTION 

soul  or  self-expression  in  the  dancer?  None  that  one  could  dis- 
cover. Yet,  the  spectators  seemed  satisfied  and  applauded 
wildly.  They  were  not  discontented  with  the  presentation  of 
this  kind  of  dancing.  Why?  Had  they  found  in  the  dance 
something  that  oneself  had  overlooked,  or  had  they  been  un- 
conscious of  the  soul  in  the  other  dances  and  regarded  them 
simply  as  more  or  less  graceful  gymnastic  exercises  ? 

Circumstances  supported  the  latter  explanation.  In  other 
words,  dancing  had  ceased  to  be  an  art  with  us  and  was  re- 
garded merely  as  a  technical  accomplishment.  We  no  longer 
used  it  in  response  to  the  promptings  of  the  emotions,  but  solely 
as  a  play  of  the  muscles.     The  conclusion  was  a  saddening  one. 

But  that  was  nearly  twenty  years  ago  and  much  has  hap- 
pened since  then.  We  have  ceased  to  allow  our  ideas  to  be 
bound  by  a  utilitarian  standard.  Beauty  for  the  sake  of 
beauty,  no  longer  the  cult  of  the  few,  is  becoming  the  heritage 
of  the  many.  We  regard  the  arts  no  longer  as  exotics, 
only  to  be  enjoyed  at  rare  moments  of  leisure,  but  as  a  neces- 
sity of  civilised  life.  We  know  that  we  are  capable  of  develop- 
ment along  other  lines  than  only  intellectual  ones.  So  our 
ideas  of  education  have  changed.  It  no  longer  means  only  a 
storing  of  the  memory,  or  sharpening  of  the  ability  to  reason 
and  calculate,  especially  the  latter,  but  also  an  enhancing  of 
the  capacity  to  give  expression  to  our  conceptions  of  the  beauty 

[7  ] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

of  life  and  living.     We  have  also  learned  that  nothing  is  more 
conducive  to  this  end  than  the  training  of  our  natural  instincts. 

Left  to  themselves,  the  instincts  may  straggle  and  overrun 
convenient  restraints;  suppressed  they  are  like  the  amputated 
limb,  which  aches  and  frets  the  injured  nerves.  But  trained 
and  guided  along  natural,  healthy  lines,  they  become  the  best 
aids  to  education,  because  the  most  natural. 

Of  all  instincts  toward  art,  dancing  is  the  most  elemental. 
It  calls  for  no  material  or  instrument  outside  of  the  human 
body.  It  does  not  depend  for  its  enjoyment  upon  long  and 
arduous  study,  though  like  all  arts  it  admits  of  it.  The  enjoy- 
ment of  rhythmic  movement  on  which  it  is  founded,  is  one  of  the 
first  things  to  which  the  infant  responds.  The  beating  of  the 
waves,  the  swaying  of  the  branches  in  the  winds,  the  flight  of 
the  butterflies  and  birds,  are  all  suggestive  of  its  appeal.  It  is 
easy  to  believe  that  its  impulse  antedated  even  that  other  ele- 
mental art-instinct,  the  instinct  of  song.  For  surely  the  first 
time  that  primeval  man  leaped  in  the  air,  feeling  the  flow  of 
life  in  every  limb,  and  then  gained  an  added  pleasure  in  re- 
peating his  leaps  in  rhythmic  sequence,  the  impulse  toward  the 
dance  was  born. 

The  impulse,  born  of  instinct,  needed  further  development 
before  it  became  an  art.  To  the  rhythm  must  be  added  har- 
mony and  conscious  balance  to  complete  its  technical  form, 

[  8  ] 


INTRODUCTION 

and  fitness  and  unity  to  make  it  expressive  of  the  spiritual  side 
of  man's  nature.  We  can  imagine  the  primitive  man  gradually- 
becoming  conscious  of  giving  form  to  his  leaps  and  bounds,  so 
as  to  be  able  to  reproduce  them  for  his  own  delight  or  that  of 
'his  fellows,  and  then  using  them  to  express  his  joy  in  life  or  his 
pride  of  achievement.  Then  other  ideas,  requiring  other  move- 
ments and  actions,  had  to  be  expressed.  Thus,  gradually,  the 
instinct  of  rhythmic  movement  crystallised  into  an  art,  which 
appealed  to  him  as  something  so  good  and  reaching  so  far  be- 
yond his  actual  experiences,  that  it  expressed  something  of  his 
aspirations  toward  the  unknown,  and  became  linked  with  his 
religion.  For  in  all  primitive  nations  the  Dance  at  one  time 
was  a  form  of  religious  ceremonies. 

This  developing  from  instinct  to  art,  which  has  taken  ages 
to  perform  in  the  human  race,  can  be  observed  in  a  less  degree 
in  the  development  of  the  child.  More  and  more,  educators 
of  the  present  day  are  calling  to  their  aid  the  resources  and  ob- 
servations of  psychology  and  using  them  to  train  the  instinct 
that  the  child  may  develop  in  a  natural,  well-rounded  way;  that 
every  faculty  may  be  used  and  strengthened  and  made  to  bear 
its  part  in  the  perfect  whole.  As  yet  this  idea  is  new  and  much 
study  must  be  devoted  to  it  before  it  accomplishes  its  full  pur- 
pose; the  teachers  themselves  have  much  to  learn,  and  what  is 
harder,  much  to  unlearn.     But  it  is  becoming  the  ideal  every- 

[  9] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

where,  and  in  nearly  all  schools  that  attempt  to  keep  up  with 
the  times  it  is  more  or  less  in  vogue. 

Dancing  naturally,  therefore,  as  an  expression  of  elemental 
instincts  is  capable  of  beneficial  results,  too  apparent  to  need 
enumerating.  But  the  highest  of  these  is,  doubtless,  its  ex- 
pressional  quality;  the  fitting  of  the  body  to  the  thought;  the 
conveying,  not  only  the  idea  but  the  quality  of  the  idea,  so  that 
we  shall  comprehend  the  action  and  also  the  inspiration  of  the 
action,  and  even  somehow  be  made  conscious  of  the  consequence 
of  the  action.  This  is  a  high  quality,  but  it  is  what  we  expect 
of  poetry,  and  in  its  highest  form  it  is  no  mere  metaphor  to  call 
dancing  the  poetry  of  motion. 

It  is  not  only  in  its  highest  and  most  artistic  form  that  the 
dance  is  a  source  of  delight.  It  is  and  always  has  been  pre- 
eminently an  art  for  All  the  People.  There  are  and  always 
have  been  Folk  dances  and  Folk  songs;  but  no  other  art,  dis- 
tinctly belonging  to  the  Folk.  It  is  unfortunate  that  one  of 
the  effects  of  partial  education  has  been  to  engender  a  self- 
consciousness  which  has  clogged  the  natural  dance  instinct,  just 
as  it  has  that  of  spontaneous  song.  Except  among  the  coloured 
people  we  do  not  hear  in  this  country  the  natural  chorus-singing 
that  may  be  heard  in  the  colliery  districts  of  Wales,  and  the 
manufacturing  neighbourhoods  of  Yorkshire  and  Lancashire, 
where  groups  of  artisans,  returning  from  work,  will  start  a 

[10] 


INTRODUCTION 

song,  joining  in  with  improvised  harmony.  In  Germany  and 
Scandinavia,  and  the  Tyrol  this  spontaneous  song  is  familiar, 
but  it  does  not  seem  to  bear  transplanting. 

And  the  same  with  the  dance.  The  young  Irish  girl  in 
America  indignantly  disclaims  all  knowledge  of  the  old-time 
jigs  and  reels.  "Me  aunt  Mary  do  be  a  fine  one  at  the  old 
country  dances,  but  me  sister  Bride  and  me,  we  just  dance  the 
new  country  dances,  two  steps  and  all  them."  But,  on  being 
pressed,  the  colleen,  two  years  away  from  the  sod,  admitted  that 
she  had  danced  jigs  when  she  was  a  slip  of  a  girl  back  home. 

The  instinct  for  the  dance  is  not  dead  in  spite  of  this  self- 
consciousness,  and  the  formality  of  ordinary  "social"  dancing 
cannot  quite  take  its  place.  Perhaps  that  is  the  explanation  of 
the  constant  outbreaks  of  new  eccentricities  in  modern  ball- 
rooms. The  American  instinct  is  still  too  youthful  and  vital  to 
be  content  with  the  conventional  dancing  of  "the  best  form"  of 
society.  So  we  have  the  outbreak  of  "turkey  trots,"  "bunny 
hugs,"  "Gaby  glides"  and  so  on.  It  is  unfortunate  that  it 
should  have  seemed  necessary  to  the  revival  of  expression  in 
the  social  dance,  to  return  to  instincts  so  primitive  as  to  be 
hardly  more  than  brutish.  But  let  us  hope  this  stage  of  evolu- 
tion will  be  quickly  passed  and  the  growth  will  be  continually 
to  something  of  beauty  and  sprituality,  more  worthy  of  our 
national  ideals. 

[13] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

That  this  Art  of  the  Dance  is  bound  to  develop  in  one  form 
or  another  among  us  is  evident  on  every  hand.  The  opportuni- 
ties offered  in  our  Recreation  centres  and  Settlement  Houses 
for  learning  Folk  dances  or  "Fancy"  dances,  as  the  term  is, 
meet  with  immediate  response.  Nor  is  it  only  due  to  the 
natural  craving  of  young  people  of  different  sexes  to  get  to- 
gether. Many  classes,  formed  entirely  of  girls,  are  crowded 
with  eager  learners,  whose  daily  toil  in  shop  or  factory,  so  far 
from  deterring  them  from  this  exertion,  seems  to  strengthen 
the  impulse  toward  this  expressional  resource.  In  some  of  the 
classes,  where  the  foreign  element  is  strong,  we  hear  of  the 
mothers  presenting  themselves  as  eager  aspirants,  and,  undis- 
couraged  by  their  lack  of  skill,  finding  joy  and  gladness  to 
brighten  their  toilsome  lives. 

It  took  some  time,  even  after  our  awakening  to  the  needs  of 
art  in  life,  for  the  dance  to  struggle  free  of  the  load  of  Puritan 
anathema  under  which  it  had  so  long  been  buried.  As  an 
amusement  it  was  tolerated,  as  a  form  of  gymnastic  exercise  it 
was  approved  of,  but  as  late  as  six  years  ago  the  claim  of  danc- 
ing to  be  considered  as  an  art  was  hardly  considered  seriously. 
Rumours  of  the  revival  of  Greek  dancing  came  over  the  sea. 
Such  things  might  suit  the  artists  of  Europe,  but  America  re- 
mained cold.  Even  the  news  that  an  exponent  of  these  dances 
was  to  come  to  this  country  evoked  no  response  except  among 

[14] 


INTRODUCTION 

those  who  knew.  Then  suddenly,  as  so  often  happens,  we  be- 
came conscious  that  this  new  form  of  beauty  was  blossoming  in 
our  midst ;  shown  in  not  only  one  but  various  forms. 

Two  American  women,  widely  differing  in  their  methods 
and  appeal,  were  each  expressing  in  a  new  way  the  old  eternal 
truths  of  Beauty.  We  could  not  ignore  them.  Their  appeal 
was  elemental  and  would  not  be  denied.  At  first  we  gasped 
and  wondered.  -But,  at  length,  we  shook  ourselves  free  of  puri- 
tanic restrictions  and  hearkened  to  this  new  appeal  and  recog- 
nised it  as  one  that  answered  to  the  cry  of  our  own  nature 
toward  the  natural  which  is  the  part  of  the  universal  and  the  in- 
finite. We  acknowledged  it  as  Art ;  the  oldest  of  the  arts,  but 
ever  young,  ever  answering  to  the  appeal  of  all  that  is  young 
in  our  own  being,  the  Art  of  the  Dance. 

Dancers  differing  from  one  another  in  ideal  and  technique, 
have  visited  us  since  then,  and  in  all  of  them  we  look  not  only 
for  a  technique  but  an  inner  ideal  of  art.  Mere  agility  will  not 
satisfy  us.  The  soulless  achievement  of  the  old-time  ballet 
school  is  not  enough.  Such  forms  of  the  dance  are  good  as 
far  as  they  go,  the  artist  ever  breathes  into  his  creations.  Only 
this  expression  will  make  of  them  a  Living  Soul*^=^a  response 
to  our  need  of  Life  and  Desire  of  Living. 


[16] 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  DANCE 

IF  the  length  of  pedigree  is  a  mark  of  distinction,  the  Dance 
can  claim  it.  It  is,  as  we  have  seen,  the  oldest  of  the  arts ; 
born  out  of  the  most  primitive  and  most  natural  instinct 
of  humanity;  its  instinct  to  live  and  express  the  sense  of  life  by 
movement.  The  Greek  imagination  figured  this  truth  and 
also  the  kinship  of  the  dance  with  drama,  poetry  and  music  in 
the  myth  of  the  Muses. 

Athene,  say  the  poets  of  Hellas,  sprang  from  the  brain  of 
Zeus;  in  full  panoply  of  helmet,  breastplate,  shield  and  spear, 
equipped  to  take  her  place  in  Olympus  as  goddess  of  the  arts 
and  science.  Wisdom  and  the  creative  imagination  were  gifts 
of  purely  divine  origin.  But  not  so  the  sisterhood  of  the  Muses. 
They  were  children  of  Zeus  and  Mnemosyne,  whom  men  today 
call  Memory,  and  she  was  of  the  primordial  race  of  the  Titans, 
the  early  earth-deities  who  had  disputed  the  sovereignty  of  the 
Olympian  Gods.  While  the  Muses  had  their  place  in  heaven, 
they  delighted  to  be  of  earth ;  haunting  the  brooks  and  springs. 
In  the  movement  of  the  water  as  it  issued  direct  and  fresh  from 
the  womb  of  nature  they  found  their  own  kinship  and  inspira- 

[16] 


Photo,  by  White,  N.  Y. 


LYDIA  LOPOUKOWA  AND  MIKAIL  MORDKIN 


THE   ORIGIN    OF   THE   DANCE 

tion,  and  following  the  stream,  as  it  meandered  through  flow- 
ery meadows  or  threaded  the  ferny  mazes  of  the  woods,  they 
discovered  their  own  joy  of  movement  and  instinctive  need  to 
express  their  sense  of  life. 

The  movement  of  water  inspired  to  movement  their  own 
supple  bodies ;  the  murmur  of  the  brooks  invited  their  own  glad- 
ness to  become  audible.  Yielding  to  nature's  impulse  from 
without  and  within  themselves,  they  learned  to  better  nature's 
rhythms.  Little  by  little  the  action  of  their  twinkling  limbs 
and  swaying  bodies  became  more  controlled,  the  accompani- 
ment of  uttered  sounds  more  varied  and  consciously  modulated. 
Voice  tuned  itself  to  movement  and  movement  gathered  in- 
spiration from  the  voice.  So,  out  of  the  union  of  movement 
with  the  concord  of  sweet  sounds  was  born  the  rhythmic  Art  of 
the  Dance. 

For  by  this  time  the  instinct  to  express  had  grown  into 
conscious  expression  and  the  expression,  no  longer  artless  as 
nature,  had  become  embodied  into  the  forms  and  harmonies 
and  rhythms  of  Art.  Then,  in  the  possession  of  this  mystery 
of  expression  in  which  all  the  sisters  shared,  each  began  to 
vary  her  own  art  to  interpret  her  special  gift  of  life.  Euterpe, 
gentle  maiden,  wove  her  lyric  melody  and  dance  in  unison  with 
the  tremble  of  leaves,  the  leap  and  slide  of  water,  swaying  of 
trees  to  the  wind  and  nodding  and  smile  of  flowers.    Erato, 

[19] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

listing  the  song  of  birds  at  mating  time,  and  the  whisper  of 
youth  and  maid  in  the  hush  of  the  new  moon,  set  the  cadence 
and  measure  of  her  dance  and  song  to  the  love-throbs  of  the 
human  heart.  Terpsichore,  alert  to  the  concord  of  nature's 
harmonies  and  rhythms,  delighted  in  harvest  and  vintage  festi- 
vals, and  led  the  choral  dance  and  song  of  thankfulness  and 
worship.  And  when  the  choral  theme  gave  voice  and  vision 
to  the  mystery  of  life  and  the  pains  of  mortals,  grave-faced 
Melpomene,  it  was,  who  inspired  the  solemn  dithyramb  and 
marshalled  the  slow  tread  and  stately  action  of  the  dancers. 
But,  when  the  theme  was  merry  with  quips  and  pranks,  laugh- 
ter-loving Thalia  lead  the  rout.  Meanwhile  Calliope  and  Clio, 
true  daughters  of  memory,  taught  men  to  chant  the  epics  and 
tell  the  story  of  their  race;  Polyhymnia  tuned  her  lyre  to 
heavenly  lays,  and  Urania  interpreted  to  men  the  ebb  and  flow 
of  the  tides  and  the  rhythmic  revolutions  of  the  planets,  which 
we  call  the  Science  of  Astronomy. 

Thus  Hellenic  imagination,  embroidering  the  fact  with  grace- 
ful fancy,  pictured  Dance,  Music,  Poetry  and  Drama,  as  sis- 
ter-arts, born  of  a  single  instinct,  common  to  humanity,  that  of 
Rhythmic  Movement.  Each  developed  in  unison  with  all,  and 
it  was  at  the  highest  period  of  the  Greek  culture  that  the  union 
of  those  arts  was  most  completely  harmonised.  To  the  tone  and 
measure  of  the  verse  were  joined  the  vocal  tones  and  rhythmic 

[20] 


THE   ORIGIN    OF    THE   DANCE 

gait  and  gestures  of  the  actors,  whose  interpretation  of  the 
theme  was  reinforced  by  choral  dance  and  song. 

Nor,  while  the  Greeks  carried  the  union  of  the  arts  of  tone 
and  rhythm  to  a  degree  of  harmony,  unattained,  so  far  as  we 
know,  by  other  nations,  was  the  fact  of  the  union  peculiar  to 
themselves.  They  did  not  invent  it.  It  developed  out  of  an 
elementary  instinct  which  has  been  discovered  to  be  common 
to  all  races  at  a  corresponding  period  of  their  primitive  state. 
Everywhere  the  dance  in  its  rudimentary  form  is  accompanied 
by  tonal  rhythm  of  voice  and  instrument  and  alMed  to  dramatic 
action,  while  the  conception  of  the  whole  is  inspired  by  a  creative 
imagination,  striving  to  express  itself  in  symbols. 

The  impulse  of  the  dance-drama  is  the  expression  of  emo- 
tions, the  earliest  of  which  seem  to  be  religious;  the  conscious- 
ness of  invisible  powers,  regarded  as  spirits  of  good  and  evil 
to  be  propitiated.  The  only  rehgious  consciousness  possessed 
by  the  Patagonians  is  said  to  be  a  panic  horror  of  evil  spirits, 
which  they  seek  to  avert  by  monotonous,  mumbling,  senseless 
incantations,  accompanied  by  a  rocking  to  and  fro  of  the  body. 
It  seems  a  straining  of  terms  to  speak  of  this  as  dance  and 
poetry,  yet  it  represents  a  germ  of  them,  equivalent  in  ex- 
pression to  the  merely  embryonic  character  of  the  religious 
emotion. 

In  the  more  advanced  stage  of  consciousness  of  good,  as 

[21] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

well  as  evil,  spirits,  the  rudiments  of  a  religious  cult  make  their 
appearance  and  the  dance  is  regulated  by  ritual  ceremonies. 
Travellers  tell  of  the  performance  of  it  by  certain  savage  tribes 
of  Australia.  The  dance  is  usually  conducted  at  night  by  torch- 
light; those  who  take  part  being  fantastically  decked  with 
flowers  and  feathers,  while  their  bodies  are  greased  and  covered 
with  white  clay.  The  last  is  supposed  to  be  for  the  purpose  of 
disguise,  since  the  greatest  secrecy  is  maintained  regarding 
the  ceremonies,  all  strangers  being  rigidly  excluded.  Among 
the  Aleutians,  who  inhabit  the  archipelago  of  islands  jutting 
from  the  coast  of  Alaska,  the  performers  in  the  mystic  dances 
cover  their  faces  with  wooden  masks,  carved  in  rude  likeness  of 
human  and  animal  heads.  Masks  of  a  corresponding  character 
were  used  by  the  North  American  Indians  in  their  ritual  dances, 
which  further  involved  considerable  pantomimic  action.  Simi- 
lar features  characterise  the  ritual  dance-ceremonies  of  the  So- 
ciety of  the  Areoi  which  extends  over  the  islands  of  Polynesia. 
In  fact,  in  all  these  cases,  and  there  are  many  others,  is  to 
be  found  the  germ  of  secret  societies  and  mystic  cults,  which 
reached  a  high  development  of  symbolism  and  beauty  of  cere- 
mony in  the  mysteries  of  Isis,  that  originated  in  Egypt  and 
spread  to  Greece  and  Italy.  The  Areoi  especially  are  suggest- 
ive of  the  secret  societies  which  still  exist  in  our  own  civilisa- 
tion.    The  society  consisted  of  seven  degrees  of  increasing 

[22] 


Photo,  by  Notman,  Boston 


RUTH  ST.  DENIS  IN  HER  INCENSE  DANCE 


THE   ORIGIN    OF   THE   DANCE 

privilege ;  the  members  of  each  being  distinguished  by  a  special 
kind  of  tattooing.  "The  Areoi,"  says  Mantzius,  "used  to  go  in 
boats,  decorated  with  flowers,  from  island  to  island.  Every- 
where they  were  welcomed  with  respectful  joy  and,  as  long  as 
they  remained,  performed  their  dances  and  pantomimes  which 
originally  were  of  a  religious  character,  but  afterwards  became 
historical  and  comical.  In  these  ceremonies  the  vehement 
gesticulations  were  accompanied  by  a  curious  kind  of  music." 

This  account  of  the  Society  of  Areoi  might  have  been  written 
of  the  dance-drama  of  the  Greeks  at  their  corresponding 
period  of  civilisation.  With  them  the  religious  cult  circled 
about  the  idea  of  the  procreative  force  in  nature,  as  personified 
in  the  god  Dionysos.  He  came  to  be  regarded  as  the  special 
protector  of  the  vineyards,  which  spread  over  the  sunny  hill- 
sides and  were  the  chief  product  of  the  soil.  But  the  reverence 
paid  to  him  had  deeper  root  in  the  worship  paid  to  the  mystery 
of  the  male  force  in  nature. 

Aristophanes  in  his  comedy,  "Acharnians,"  describes  a 
Dionysiac  festival,  celebrated  by  a  peasant  and  his  family.  The 
family  begins  with  a  prayer  and  then  walks  in  procession  to 
the  place  where  the  oif  ering  is  to  be  made.  The  latter  is  carried 
in  a  basket  by  the  daughter,  who  walks  in  advance  of  a  slave, 
bearing  a  phallus,  the  symbol  of  fertility.  Behind  him  walks 
the  peasant,  chanting  a  song  to  the  honour  of  the  god  and  the 

[25] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

force  which  he  embodies.  Meanwhile,  from  the  window  of  the 
cottage,  the  wife,  playing  the  part  of  the  audience,  watches  the 
ceremony.  Aristophanes  sought  to  raise  a  laugh  at  the  poverty 
of  the  ceremony,  as  compared  to  the  grandeur  which  the 
Dionysiac  festival  had  attained  in  his  own  day.  But  in  doing 
so,  he  shed  a  valuable  light  on  the  origin  and  primitive  char- 
acter of  the  ritual. 

For,  long  before  his  own  day,  the  single  maiden  had  been 
reinforced  by  a  number  of  others,  acting  as  canephorai  or 
basket-bearers,  while  the  single  slave  had  been  supplanted  by  a 
band  of  youths,  whose  faces  were  smeared  with  mulberry  juice, 
their  bodies  being  fantastically  clothed  in  wine-stained  drap- 
eries and  goat-skins.  This  merry  rout  or  comos,  enacting  the 
part  of  satyrs,  indulged  in  comic  actions  and  flung  gibes  and 
jokes  among  the  crowd  of  spectators.  Meanwhile  the  chief 
victim  of  sacrifice,  a  he-goat  or  tragos,  is  lead  by  a  grave  band 
of  older  men,  accompanying  the  priest,  who  now  on  behalf  of 
the  community  fills  the  role  that  in  old  days  was  performed 
by  the  father  of  each  family. 

At  length  the  altar  is  reached  and  the  chorus  of  satyrs  and 
the  chorus  of  goat-leaders  form  a  circle  round  it,  on  the  edge 
of  which  the  congregation  of  spectators  spreads  an  extended 
fringe. 

The  priest  ascends  the  platform  of  the  altar  and  lifts  his 

[26] 


THE   ORIGIN    OF   THE   DANCE 

voice  in  prayer  to  Dionysos ;  and  at  each  mention  of  the  sacred 
name,  cries  of  "Euoi!  Euoi!"  resound  from  the  goat-chorus  and 
are  shrieked  by  the  satyr-chorus  and  taken  up  with  varied  ex- 
pression by  the  throng.  Nor  does  the  priest  fail  to  recount  the 
story  of  the  god's  birth  and  bringing  up;  pausing  at  intervals, 
while  the  choruses  move  around  the  altar  with  symbolic  gestures, 
chanting  the  dithyrambic  song. 

From  this  ritual  ceremony  there  were  but  two  steps  to  be 
made  and  the  final  form  of  the  dance-drama  of  the  Greeks 
was  developed.  One  of  these  consisted  in  the  change  from 
narrative  to  dialogue.  Instead  of  the  priest  telling  the  story 
of  the  god,  he  and  the  attendant  priest  would  impersonate  the 
various  characters  in  turn  and  enact  the  incident.  The  second 
step  was  marked,  when  the  popularity  of  these  festivals  led  to 
their  being  given  on  other  occasions  than  the  Dionysiac  feast; 
in  which  case  the  doings  of  some  hero  would  be  substituted  for 
the  worship  of  the  god.  But  even  in  this  case  the  dance-drama 
preserved  a  flavour  of  its  religious  origin.  The  altar  still  stood 
in  the  centre  of  the  orchestra  and  from  its  platform  the  princi- 
pal actors  declaimed  their  verses,  stepping  down  at  intervals 
to  address  themselves  more  intimately  to  the  chorus. 

By  the  time  a  secular  theme  and  the  impersonation  of  it  had 
been  adopted,  the  goat-chorus  parted  from  the  chorus  of  satyrs. 
Henceforth,  tragedy  and  comedy  moved  on  to  separate  de- 

[27] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

velopment,  and  each  had  its  own  poets  and  its  own  traditions. 

It  has  seemed  worth  while  to  dwell  on  the  evolution  of  the 
Dionysiac  ritual,  because  it  illustrates  so  clearly  what  travellers 
have  noted  in  all  the  parts  of  the  world;  namely,  that  the  in- 
stinct of  primitive  man  under  the  impulse  of  self-expression  and 
of  communicating  his  emotions  to  his  fellows  has  recognised  the 
natural  alliance  of  Poetry,  Music,  Dance  and  Drama,  as  sister- 
arts  of  tone  and  movement. 

It  was  the  recognition  of  this  that  inspired  Wagner,  and 
today  is  the  basis  of  Gordon  Craig's  ideas  for  the  revival  of  the 
Art  of  the  Theatre.  He  would  create  a  reaction  from  the  tone- 
less, unrhythmic,  unimaginative  naturalism  of  the  modern 
drama  and  method  of  stage-production;  slough  off  the  sophis- 
tications and  conventional  forms  that  have  grown  around  the 
art,  and  base  it  once  more  on  instinct.  At  first  his  idea  was 
scouted  as  the  empty  vapouring  of  an  unpractical  dreamer. 
But  the  study  of  psychology  has  been  spreading  of  late  years 
and  now  it  is  being  understood  that  in  the  modern,  as  well  as 
in  the  primitive  man,  instinct  is  the  basis  of  the  physical  and 
emotional  hfe,  affecting  also  the  life  of  his  intellect.  Further, 
that  proper  development  of  all  the  faculties  must  start  from 
the  instinctive  promptings  of  the  individual  nature;  and  that 
the  desires,  sensations  and  thoughts,  resulting  from  them, 
should  as  far  as  possible  be  left  free  of  rules,  dogmas  and  con- 

[28] 


THE   ORIGIN    OF   THE   DANCE 

ventional  restrictions,  so  that  the  individual  may  grow  to  his 
finest  capacity  of  self-realisation  and  self-expression. 

Imagine  a  number  of  actors  and  actresses,  who  have  thus 
been  allowed  to  reach  each  his  or  her  own  utmost  of  emotional 
expression;  a  stage  director,  who  has  himself  learned  to  de- 
velop his  imagination  naturally  out  of  his  instincts,  and  a 
playwright  of  corresponding  imagination,  similarly  self -grown ! 
The  last  would  be  able,  not  merely  to  serve  up  a  few  cross-cut 
slices  of  life  as  the  result  of  uninspired  observation,  but  to 
create  a  vision  of  life,  interpreting  something  of  life's  universal 
harmonies  and  rhythms.  The  stage-director  on  his  part, 
through  his  own  cultivated  imagination  and  out  of  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  expressional  technique  of  the  stage,  would  be  able 
to  give  substance  and  movement  to  the  playwright's  vision. 
Lastly,  under  his  inspiration,  the  natural  self-expression  of  the 
actors  and  actresses  would  be  co-ordinated  into  a  living  whole 
of  harmonised  relations,  as  are  the  units  of  a  finely  balanced 
orchestra. 

This  in  brief  is  Gordon  Craig's  ideal,  which  has  grown  out  of 
the  disgust  that  he  and  others  feel  over  the  present  condition 
of  the  theatre,  and  its  jumble  of  occasional  sense  and  beauty 
with  a  superabundance  of  foolishness,  meretriciousness,  vul- 
garity, and  falseness  to  life. 

That  some  progress  is  being  made  toward  the  fulfilment  of 

[31] 


DANCING  AND  DANCERS  OF  TODAY 

this  ideal  can  be  detected  in  the  present  revival  of  the  Art  of 
the  Dance.  For  in  it  one  can  discover  more  than  a  glimmering 
of  the  old  instinct  of  expression,  which  finds  its  highest  realisa- 
tion in  the  union  of  Poetry,  Music,  Dance  and  Drama. 

But  before  pursuing  this  new  phase  of  the  Art  of  the  The- 
atre, it  is  worth  while  to  glance  at  the  parts  which  naturalism, 
on  the  one  hand,  and  some  form  of  convention  or  symbolic 
method,  on  the  other,  have  played  in  the  growth  of  the  dance- 
drama. 

From  the  earliest  times  mimic  dances  have  existed  side  by 
side,  says  Mantzius,  with  religious  dances  of  symbolic  signifi- 
cance. He  is  of  the  opinion  that  the  latter  are  certainly  the 
older.  The  question  is  not  of  much  importance,  otherwise  it 
might  be  argued  from  the  study  of  children  that  the  earliest 
form  of  conscious  expression  is  that  of  imitation.  Amongst 
savages  the  imitation  of  animals  has  been  a  favourite  practice. 
The  Australian  aborigines,  for  example,  imitate  with  remark- 
able fidelity  the  movements  and  sounds  of  the  emu  and  kanga- 
roo. In  time  they  carried  the  illusion  further  by  dressing  in 
the  feathers  of  the  one  and  the  hide  of  the  other.  From  this 
they  passed  to  an  organised  dance-drama,  in  which  not  only 
these  creatures  were  impersonated,  but  all  the  features  of  a 
hunt  were  performed. 

Correspondingly,  among  the  primitive  nations,  including  the 

[32] 


THE   ORIGIN    OF   THE   DANCE 

Indian  tribes  of  this  continent,  the  mimicking  of  war  has  been 
a  constant  motive  of  the  dance-drama.  It  has  involved  not 
only  the  actually  naturalistic  features  of  tracking  the  enemy, 
stealing  upon  him  and  engaging  in  a  conflict  of  offence  and 
defence,  but  also  has  been  characterised  by  the  introduction  of 
grotesque  and  comic  fights,  which  served  as  interludes  to  re- 
lieve the  general  seriousness.  At  the  same  time  they  afforded 
opportunity  for  individual  inventiveness,  which  advanced  mere 
imitation  toward  creative  acting. 

For  even  in  the  primitive  dance-drama  of  savage  peoples  one 
discovers  the  consciousness  that  acting  may  be  more  than 
imitation.  It  is  a  consciousness  rather  conspicuously  lacking 
in  American  audiences,  habituated  to  the  detailed  naturalism 
or  imitation,  fathered  by  Mr.  Belasco.  They  applaud,  for  ex- 
ample, quite  extravagantly  the  representation  on  the  stage  of 
a  telephone  switch-board  with  a  "hello"  girl  attached  to  it.  In 
their  naive  childishness,  not  a  whit  advanced  beyond  the 
mimetic  instinct  of  primitive  savages,  they  prattle  about  the  in- 
troduction on  the  stage  of  this  feature  of  actual  Hfe,  to  which 
in  actual  life  they  are  totally  indifferent,  as  if  it  represented  a 
distinct  advance  in  stagecraft  and  a  new  motive  in  drama.  How 
the  ingeniously  clever  Mr.  Belasco  must  smile  up  his  sleeve! 
No  wonder  that,  when  he  appears  in  response  to  the  vociferous 
applause,  he  strokes  the  pendent  lock  upon  his  forehead,  while 

[33] 


DANCING  AND  DANCERS  OF  TODAY 

at  the  back  of  his  busy  brain  there  hums  the  reflection  of  another 
stage-director:  *'Lord!  What  fools  these  mortals  be!" 

But  to  return  to  the  war  dance.  Here  is  a  description  from 
Bahnson's  "Anthropologic  der  Naturvolker"  of  The  Korrobor- 
ree,  as  performed  by  the  Australian  savages  to  celebrate  peace 
after  war.  "Several  tribes  are  wont  to  assemble  for  this 
festival,  which  is  held  by  moonhght.  The  day  before  the  ap- 
pointed date  the  men  remain  concealed  in  the  bushes,  in  order 
to  decorate  themselves  for  the  festival  by  rubbing  their  skin 
thoroughly  with  grease  and  covering  it  with  white  clay. 
Towards  sunset  the  women  light  a  great  fire  and  strike  up  a 
monotonous  song,  in  which  the  same  verse  is  constantly  re- 
peated; they  accompany  it  by  beating  on  a  piece  of  opossum 
hide,  stretched  on  their  knees  like  a  drum  skin,  or  by  knocking 
together  two  boomerangs  (wooden  missiles  used  by  the  Austra- 
lians in  war  and  hunting) .  Armed  with  clubs,  spears  and  other 
weapons,  or  swinging  torches,  the  men  rush  out  from  among 
the  bushes.  Conducted  by  a  man  who  beats  the  time  with 
two  sticks  or  clubs,  they  begin  their  dance  by  winding  and 
twisting  their  bodies,  stamping  on  the  ground,  and  making  all 
kinds  of  gestures  and  grimaces.  From  time  to  time  their  lines 
dissolve  into  a  confused  crowd;  small  groups  play  a  game 
which  consists  in  chasing  each  other  in  a  circle,  running  back- 
wards and  forwards  till  the  lines  close  again  and  dancing  be- 

[34] 


Photo,  by  Mishkin  Studio,  N.  Y. 
ANNA  PAVLOWA  AND  MIKAIL  MORDKIN 


THE    ORIGIN    OF   THE   DANCE 

gins  afresh.  This  goes  on  throughout  the  night  till  the  follow- 
ing morning." 

Another  peace-dance  is  the  so-called  Scalp-Dance  of  the 
American  Indians ;  a  peculiarity  of  which  is  that  it  is  performed 
by  women.  The  description  is  taken  from  Mantzius'  "History 
of  Theatrical  Art."  *'While  the  medicine-men^ Shamans — sing 
and  mark  the  rhythm  on  their  primitive  musical  instruments, 
the  women — painted  red  and  decorated  with  beads  and  ribbons 
— dance  in  concentric  circles  round  the  scalps,  which  are  sus- 
pended on  a  pole  in  the  centre;  sometimes  one  of  the  women 
carries  them  on  her  shoulder.  At  each  stroke  on  the  drum  the 
dancers  rise  on  tip-toe,  jump  up  and  slide  a  little  to  the  left, 
all  the  time  singing  in  perfect  rhythm  with  the  music  of  the 
Shamans.  After  some  minutes  the  women  have  to  rest.  Dur- 
ing this  pause  one  of  them  relates  events  of  past  war,  especially 
the  deeds  and  deaths  of  the  fallen  men;  at  last  she  exclaims: 
*whose  scalps  do  I  carry  on  my  shoulder?'  At  these  words 
they  all  jump  up  again  with  cheers  and  screams  of  vengeance, 
and  dancing  begins  afresh." 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  this  dance-drama  is  scarcely  mimetic; 
but  rather  of  a  conventionalised  character;  the  jump  and  slide 
of  the  woman  in  rhythm  with  the  music  being  symbolic  in  ex- 
pression and  no  doubt  following  a  form  set  by  the  Shamans. 
Further,  this  interlude  is  serious,  occupied  with  a  recitation  of 

[37] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

the  deeds  and  deaths  of  the  fallen  warriors.  Here  we  discover 
not  only  the  germ  of  creative,  poetical  drama,  but  also  that  it 
parallels  the  evolution  of  Greek  dance-drama,  as  the  last  passed 
from  the  celebration  of  a  Deity,  to  that  of  heroes.  It  is  the  be- 
ginning of  historical  drama,  which  with  the  Indians  stopped 
where  it  began,  while  the  Greeks  developed  it  into  the  heroic 
drama  of  the  classic  period. 

Meanwhile,  another  source  of  the  mimetic  dance-drama  of 
primitive  nations  always  and  everjrwhere  has  been  the  instinct 
of  the  man  for  the  woman ;  his  wooing  of  her  and  her  eluding 
of  him,  with  the  final  yielding  or  capture.  Sometimes,  even 
among  people  of  little  civilisation,  the  dance  was  enacted  with 
decorum;  elsewhere,  with  the  unbridled  naturalism  that  is 
usually  associated  with  the  "erotic"  dance.  Under  either  aspect 
it  is  probably  the  earliest  form  of  the  pas  de  deux,  as  contrasted 
with  the  choral  dance. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  comic  interludes.  One  frequently 
recurring  in  ancient  as  well  as  modern  times  is  founded  upon  the 
most  usual  of  hot-weather  incidents,^^the  attack  of  an  insect. 
The  modern  "Tarantella"  has  an  ancient  lineage  in  European 
dance-lore  and  can  claim  kinship  with  remote  alien  civilisations. 
But  the  insect,  instead  of  being  a  poisonous  spider,  is  often  a 
bee.  Captain  Cook  describes  a  dance  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
Philippines,  in  which  with  the  accompaniments  of  choral  move- 

[38] 


THE   ORIGIN    OF   THE   DANCE 

ments  the  dancer  feigns  to  be  pursued  by  one  of  the  insects ;  the 
situation  being  enacted  with  every  detail  of  naturalistic  vraisem- 
blance.  The  same  motif  appears  in  one  of  the  favourite  panto- 
mimes of  the  Almees  or  Ahnahas,  the  professional  dancing  girls 
of  the  East  and  Egypt,  who  are  engaged  to  dance  and  recite 
in  private  houses.  In  his  "Correspondence  d'Orient"  M. 
Michaud  describes  one  of  these  interludes.  A  girl  has  been 
stung  by  a  bee  and  dances  round  and  round  with  gestures  ex- 
pressive of  pain,  meanwhile  uttering  cries  of  "Oh!  Oh!  Oh!  the 
bee!"  Her  companions  rush  to  her  assistance  and  in  order  to 
reach  the  pain-spot,  remove  her  veil,  her  shawl  and  one  gar- 
ment after  another;  the  disrobing  being  carried  as  far  as  the 
taste  of  the  audience  sanctions  it, 

Mantzius,  quoting  this,  finds  possible  analogy  to  it  in  the 
beautiful  poem-drama  of  the  Indians — "Sakuntala."  While 
King  Dushyanta,  hidden  among  the  bushes  in  the  garden, 
watches  Sakuntala  and  her  maidens,  the  former  discovers  that 
she  is  being  pursued  by  a  bee.  In  her  fright  she  exclaims: 
"Ah!  a  bee!  disturbed  by  the  sprinkling  of  the  fountain,  has 
left  the  young  jasmine  and  is  trying  to  settle  on  my  face."  As 
she  circles  round  in  her  flight,  the  King  remarks:  "Beautiful! 
there  is  something  charming  even  in  her  terror."  Then  while 
the  dance  continues  he  comments  upon  the  grace  and  beauty 
of  the  princess  and  apostrophises  the  "happy  bee." 

[41] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

The  chief  point  of  interest  in  these  and  similar  interludes 
and  dance-dramas  is  the  fact  that  they  involve  the  union  of 
naturalistic  mimicry  and  conventional  dance  forms.  In  this 
respect  they  preserve  the  tradition  of  the  classic  Greek  drama^ 
from  which  the  later  stage  departed,  as  drama  became  separated 
from  dance.  Meanwhile  the  latter,  even  as  in  independent 
stage  art,  has  never  wholly  dissociated  itself  from  mimic  repre- 
sentation. Although  many  of  its  forms  only  embody  the  ab- 
stract sensations  of  joy  and  beauty,  others  have  always  clung 
to  the  interpretation  of  some  theme  or  story.  But  in  the  ballet 
developed  by  the  Italians,  which  was  popular  during  the  eigh- 
teenth century  and  early  half  of  the  succeeding  century,  the 
naturalness  of  the  dramatic  features  was  lost  in  the  convention 
of  the  dance  forms.  The  theme,  such  as  it  was,  became  only 
the  vague  nucleus  of  what  was  actually  an  exhibition  of  gym- 
nastic grace  and  skill.  It  is  because  of  a  return  to  the  older 
usage,  founded  in  the  hereditary  tradition  of  the  art,  that  the 
modern  revival  of  the  dance  has  its  first  claim  to  recognition. 
The  forms  of  the  dance  have  again  been  wedded  to  those  of  the 
dramatic  expression. 

In  its  choral  and  ballet  features,  involving  supernumeraries 
as  well  as  principals,  and  also  in  its  depicting  of  a  theme,  the 
dance-drama  to-day  has  been  most  highly  developed  by  the 
Russians.     In  their  case  it  is  impregnated  with  the  naturalism^ 

[42] 


THE   ORIGIN    OF   THE   DANCE 

which  is  the  characteristic  motive  also  of  the  Russian  novel  and 
drama.  In  the  latter  arts,  authors  of  other  nations  have  emu- 
lated them,  but  the  palm,  not  only  for  frankness  of  naturahsm 
but  also  for  investing  it  with  picturesque  attractiveness  as  well 
as  poignancy,  belongs  to  Russia.  And  the  same  qualities  dis- 
tinguish her  creations  of  dance-drama. 

Meanwhile,  it  is  not  the  naturalism  that  constitutes  the  sole 
or  even  the  chief  merit  of  these  creations.  It  is  the  sense  of 
beauty  which  is  revealed  by  the  Russian,  who  makes  use  of 
every  opportunity  which  the  theme  affords  of  artistic  appeal 
to  ear  and  eye  and  imagination.  Pre-eminently  he  relies  upon 
the  inherent  capacity  of  the  dance-forms,  in  their  endless 
variety  of  permutations,  based  on  a  comparatively  limited  num- 
ber of  steps  and  gestures.  He  handles  his  coryphees  as  a 
composer  manipulates  his  musical  theme,  elaborating  melodies 
and  harmonies.  First  and  foremost,  his  imagination,  cor- 
responding to  the  musician's,  pictures  his  theme  and  its  devel- 
opment as  an  organised  succession  of  rhythmic  movements,  all 
harmoniously  related,  adding  each  its  quota  of  significance  and 
beauty  to  the  ensemble.  It  is  the  sheer  abstract  loveliness  of 
the  whole  thing  that  is  its  pre-eminent  distinction  and  to  this  the 
note  of  naturalism,  when  it  is  added,  forms  a  piquant  or 
poignant  accent. 

And  to  the  ensemble  of  these  dance-dramas  all  the  artistic 

[4^] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

resources  of  the  theatre  contribute.  The  Russian  invites  the 
co-operation  of  the  arts  of  music,  architecture,  painting  and 
sculpture;  and  has  created  a  new  art,  that  of  scenic  lighting. 
The  excellency  of  the  result  is  not  the  product  of  a  single 
master-mind,  but  of  several  master-minds  united  in  perfect 
sympathy  of  co-operation.  Names  that  it  is  fair  to  single  out 
for  special  mention  are  those  of  Foukin,  stage  director  of  the 
"Big  Theatre,"  Moscow,  the  headquarters  of  the  Russian 
dance-drama;  Mikail  Mordkin,  himself  supreme  artist  of  the 
dance  as  well  as  a  master  of  unrivalled  experience  in  chore- 
graphic  direction;  Bakst,  the  designer  of  mise-en-scene  and 
of  details  of  costumes  and  accessories,  possessed  of  an  ex- 
traordinarily original  and  fecund  imagination ;  and  the  musical 
composer,  Rimski-Korsakow.  Meanwhile  the  example  of 
these  artists  has  bred  others  only  second  to  themselves,  and  the 
influence  of  the  master-minds  has  filtered  down  to  the  rank  and 
file,  so  that  the  humblest  is  inspired  with  the  ardour  of  the  artist. 

It  should  be  of  interest  to  Americans  to  know  that  it  is  to  an 
American,  Isadora  Duncan,  that  these  Russian  artists  acknowl- 
edge their  indebtedness.  It  was  she  who  inspired,  they  will  tell 
you,  the  latest  development  of  these  dance-dramas,  and  Miss 
Duncan  herself  is  in  turn  largely  indebted  to  the  inspiration  of 
Gordon  Craig. 

{To  those  of  us  who  saw  these  Russian  dance-dramas  in 

[44] 


THE   ORIGIN    OF   THE   DANCE 

Paris,  where  they  were  produced  by  the  master  minds  of  the 
Imperial  Troupe,  the  repetition  of  them  in  this  country  fell 
somewhat  short  of  the  original  in  their  finer  subtleties  of  ex- 
pressiveness. Yet,  even  so,  they  were  an  amazing  revelation 
of  what  can  be  done  under  artistic  impulse  and  co-operation. 
Contrasted  with  the  shoddy  patchwork  that  passes  for  a  beau- 
tiful production  in  New  York  they  shone  as  a  diamond  in  com- 
parison with  bottle-glass.  The  reception,  however,  which  they 
met  with  was  lacking  in  enthusiasm.  The  public,  unaccus- 
tomed to  such  artistry,  was  dazzled  like  a  bat  in  the  brilliance  of 
an  arc-light. 

The  stage,  which  these  artists  had  occupied  for  a  while,  was 
re-absorbed  into  the  regular  Broadway  routine.  Had  you 
visited  the  theatre  you  would  have  seen  the  old  familiar  hodge- 
podge of  a  Httle  individual  cleverness,  stirred  into  a  swamp  of 
inanity  and  vulgarity.  Back  again  had  come  the  silly  tripping, 
marching  and  counter-marching  of  self-conscious  chorus-girls 
and  the  stale  variety  of  "funny"  jokists,  male  and  female;  art 
had  been  ousted,  and  in  the  place  of  a  mise-en-scene,  stimulating 
to  illusions,  were  trumpery,  painted  canvases,  costumes  of 
childish  invention  and  blaring  disregard  of  harmonies  of  colour, 
and  music  utterly  uninspired.  A  show  more  shameful  in'  its 
tawdry  stupidity  one  could  hardly  imagine,  and  yet  it  had  been 
highly  commended  by  some  of  our  leaders  of  dramatic  taste ! 

[46] 


CHAPTER  III 

ISADORA  DUNCAN 

MAY  the  combination  of  two  arts  enhance,  or  must  it 
detract  from,  the  beauty  of  each?  Is  the  spirit  of 
each  a  thing  so  separate  and  apart  that  they  cannot 
be  combined  without  confusion?  Must  we  hsten  to  music  with 
our  eyes  shut  and  look  at  dancing  with  our  ears  stopped? 
This  question  seems  to  be  banal,  but  it  was  the  subject  of  many 
of  the  criticisms  which  greeted  Isadora  Duncan's  first  ap- 
pearance in  New  York.  And  truly  it  would  seem  that  in  de- 
veloping their  musical  taste  some  musicians  have  entirely 
neglected  all  the  other  arts.  Accordingly  it  is  only  in  surround- 
ings where  everything  is  immobile,  that  they  can  be  impressed 
with  compositions  which  bear  such  lively  names  as  Saraband, 
Mazurka,  Bourree,  Gavotte,  Gigue.  So  much  does  stillness 
seem  to  be  their  one  ideal,  that  it  is  a  wonder  they  permit  the 
musicians  to  move  their  arms  so  vigorously. 

So  the  musical  pundits  were  shocked.  It  was  a  desecration 
of  music  to  associate  with  it  so  "primitive"  an  art  as  dancing; 
too  much,  possibly,  like  opening  a  cathedral  window  and 
letting  nature's  freshness  blow  through  the  aisles  and  vaulting. 

[46] 


Copyright  by  Steichen 


Photo,  by  Eduard  J.  Steichen 


ISADORA  DUNCAN 

With  permission  of  tlie  Photo.  Secession 


ISADORA   DUNCAN 

It  ruffles  the  hair  of  the  worshippers  and  disturbs  the  serene 
detachment  of  their  reveries. 

From  their  standpoint  quite  possibly  the  pundits  are  right. 
They  have  trained  their  ears  at  the  expense  of  their  eyes,  and 
have  accustomed  their  brain  to  respond  exclusively  to  aural  im- 
pressions. 

Therefore,  since  the  sense  of  sight  is  dormant,  it  does  not 
matter  that  the  colouring  of  the  hall  in  which  they  hear  their 
Music  is  crude,  its  decoration  shabby  and  its  lighting  distressing 
to  the  eyes.  That  is  quite  appropriate  for  the  proper  apprecia- 
tion of  the  highest  music !  But  to  look  at  a  beautiful  creature, 
so  impersonal  as  to  be  neither  man,  woman,  nor  child,  flitting 
across  a  background,  restful  to  the  senses,  its  colour  only 
vaguely  felt,  in  rhythmic  movement  accorded  to  the  subtlest 
phrasing  rather  than  the  actual  beat  of  the  accent,  that  was  in- 
tolerable. Yet  what  said  one  whom  they  themselves  have  called 
master:  Richard  Wagner? 

Of  Beethoven's  Seventh  Symphony,  in  which,  to  the  horror 
of  some  musical  critics,  Isadora  Duncan  dances  the  second, 
third  and  fourth  movements,  Wagner  wrote  as  follows  in  his 
"Artwork  of  the  Future": 

"This  symphony  is  the  Apotheosis  of  Dance  herself;  it  is  the 
Dance  in  her  highest  aspect,  as  it  were,  the  loftiest  deed  of 
bodily  motion  incorporated  in  an  ideal  mould  of  tone.     Melody 

[49] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

and  Harmony  unite  around  the  sturdy  bones  of  Rhythm  to 
firm  and  fleshy  human  shapes,  which  now  with  giant  limbs,  and 
now  with  soft,  elastic  pliance,  almost  before  our  very  eyes,  close 
up  the  supple  teeming  ranks;  the  while  now  gently,  now  with 
daring,  now  serious,  now  wanton,  now  pensive,  and  again  exult- 
ing, the  deathless  strain  sounds  forth  and  forth,  until  in  the 

whirl  of  delight  a  kiss-triumph  seals  the  last  embrace. 
» 

"And  yet  these  happy  dancers  were  merely  shadowed  forth 

in  tones— mere  sounds  that  imitated  men!    Like  a  second 

Prometheus,  who  fashioned  men  of  clay  (Thon),  Beethoven 

had  sought  to  fashion  men  of  tone.     Yet  not  from  'Thon'  or 

Tone,  but  from  both  substances  together,  must  man,  the  image 

of  life-giving  Zeus,  be  made.     Were  Prometheus'  mouldings 

only  offered  to  the  eye,  so  were  those  of  Beethoven  only  offered 

to  the  ear.     But  only  where  eye  and  ear  confirm  each  other's 

sentience  of  him  (Zeus)  is  the  whole  artistic  man  at  hand." 

''The  whole  artistic  man !"  or  in  Isadora  Duncan's  own  words, 

"all  that  is  most  moral,  healthful,  and  beautiful  in  art."     It  is 

to  express  this  that  she  has  dedicated  her  art.     She  believes 

in  the  sacredness  of  humanity  and  the  sacredness  of  her  service 

to  it  through  her  art,  so  that  nothing  can  be  too  good  or  too 

holy  to  offer  to  it.     All  that  is  best  of  music  shall  accompany 

it,  just  as  all  that  is  most  lovely  in  colouring  and  setting  must  be 

sought  out  for  it;  all  that  is  most  impressive  in  the  body  and 

[50] 


ISADORA   DUNCAN 

mind  of  the  dancer  must  be  dedicated  to  it.  For  with  her  the 
dance  must  grow  from  desire  and  will  to  dance ;  from  sympathy 
with  the  rhythms  of  nature  and  in  accordance  with  its  laws. 
No  need  laboriously  to  stretch  the  muscles  and  ligaments  with 
unnatural  exercise  until  they  become  so  strong  that  the  laws  of 
gravitation  seem  to  be  defied.  -  Given  a  normal,  healthy  body, 
developed  by  natural  impulses,  harmoniously  balanced  and 
controlled,  and  a  mind  open  to  the  influence  of  all  that  is  most 
beautiful  in  life  and  art,  then  the  body  will  be  provided  with 
that  upward  gravitation  of  spirituality  which  will  counteract 
the  earthly  gravitation  and  give  a  lightness  and  poise  that  mere 
muscular  training  can  never  accomplish.  Such  training  as  will 
develop  the  symmetry  and  grace  of  the  body  and  help  it  "to 
evolve  movements  in  ever  varying,  natural,  unending  se- 
quences," is  her  only  preparation  for  the  form  of  the  dance. 
And  then,  to  fit  the  form  to  the  gladness  and  light  of  the  uni- 
verse and  join  it  to  the  eternal  rhythms  of  the  spheres,  she  adds 
the  training  of  the  will  and  the  spirit. 

Such  are  the  ideals  of  the  dancer  whose  art  we  heard,  before 
her  arrival  in  this  country,  described  a  little  vaguely  sometimes 
as  "barefoot"  dancing,  sometimes  as  "Greek"  dancing.  It  is 
hardly  necessary  to  say  that  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  is 
relevant  in  appreciating  her  art.  Greek  it  is  in  so  far  as  the 
Greeks  went  straight  to  nature  for  their  inspiration,   and 

[51] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

Isadora  Duncan  has  sought  the  same  source,  and  nature  is  the 
same  in  all  times  and  all  ages.  But  never  is  it  Greek  for  the 
sake  of  antiquarian  prejudices  nor  opinion! 

Again  and  again  as  you  watch  the  play  of  her  limbs  and  the 
fluttering  folds  of  the  draperies  you  are  reminded  of  this  or 
that  Greek  statue  or  form  on  a  vase.  But  this  is  not  the  result 
of  any  slavish  imitation. 

Being  a  lover  of  beautiful,  natural  form,  she  could  not  fail 
to  be  impressed  by  the  truth  and  beauty  of  Greek  art.  She 
found  in  it  a  synthesis  of  the  sequences  of  natural  movements ; 
in  fact,  "of  the  laws  of  nature,  wherein  all  is  the  expression 
of  unending,  ever  increasing  evolution,  wherein  are  no  ends 
and  no  beginnings."  Those  are  her  own  words,  and  she  adds : 
"I  might  take  examples  of  each  pose  and  gesture  in  the  thou- 
sands of  figures  we  have  left  to  us  in  the  Greek  vases  and  bas- 
rehefs;  there  is  not  one  which  in  its  movements  does  not  pre- 
suppose another  movement." 

Thus  it  was  the  confirmation  of  her  own  instinct  that  she 
discovered  in  Greek  art.  She  was  drawn  to  the  latter  by  her 
natural  impulses,  and  found  herself  most  akin  to  the  Greek 
when  she  was  most  natural  herself. 

Accordingly,  because  the  instinct  toward  the  expressional 
use  of  the  body  is  as  natural  to  her  as  it  was  to  the  Greeks, 
Isadora  Duncan  is  of  one  mind  with  them  in  believing  that  the 

[62] 


ISADORA  DUNCAN 

use  of  the  nude  in  dancing  is  as  sacred  and  sane  as  in  the  other 
arts.  "Dancing  naked  upon  the  earth,"  she  says,  "I  naturally 
fall  into  Greek  positions,  for  Greek  positions  are  only  earth 
positions." 

The  bare  limbs  and  the  gauzy  draperies,  flowing  free  from 
her  body,  evidence  her  belief  in  the  expressive  power  of  the 
body,  not  a  wish  to  display  her  body  because  of  any  particular 
beauty  or  grace  of  its  own.  It  is  the  sacredness  of  the  body, 
not  the  beauty  of  any  one  particular  body  that  is  her  motive. 
And,  to  those  who  have  understood  the  meaning  of  her  art,  it 
is  no  drawback  that  she  herself  has  not  the  absolute  perfection 
of  proportion  demanded  by  the  Broadway  show-girl.  Rather 
it  is  a  confirmation  of  her  ideal,  that  the  body  naturally  and 
simply  used  as  a  means  of  expression  is  a  thing  to  be  revered 
because  it  is  "most  moral,  healthful  and  beautiful." 

And  no  doubt  that  for  sheer  beauty  and  gladness  of  the  sort 
that  brings  happy  tears  to  the  eyes  and  catches  the  breath  in  a 
sob  at  the  throat,  few  things  in  life  equal  one's  first  experience 
of  the  dancing  of  Isadora  Duncan.  The  personality  of  the 
woman  is  lost  in  the  impersonality  of  her  art.  The  figure  be- 
comes a  symbol  of  abstract  conception  of  rhythm  and  melody. 
The  spirit  of  rhythm  and  melody  by  some  miracle  seem  to  have 
been  made  visible. 

"A  presence  distilled  from  the  corporeality  of  things,  it 

[53] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

floats  in,  bringing  with  it  the  perfume  of  flowers,  the  breath 
of  zephyrs  and  the  ripples  of  the  brook;  the  sway  of  pine  trees 
on  hillsides  and  quiver  of  reeds  beside  woodland  pools;  the 
skimming  of  swallows  in  the  clear  blue  and  the  poise  of  the 
humming-bird  in  a  garden  of  lilies;  the  gliding  of  fish  and  the 
dart  of  the  firefly  and  the  footfall  of  deer  on  dewy  grass;  the 
smile  of  the  sunlight  on  merry  beds  of  flowers  and  the  soft 
tread  of  shadows  over  nameless  graves ;  the  purity  of  the  dawn, 
the  tremble  of  twilight  and  the  sob  of  moonlit  waves.  These 
and  a  thousand  other  hints  of  the  rhythm  which  nature  weaves 
about  the  lives  and  deaths  of  men  seem  to  permeate  her  dance. 
The  movement  of  beauty  that  artists  of  all  ages  have  dreamed 
of  as  penetrating  the  universe  through  all  eternity,  in  a  few 
moments  of  intense  consciousness  seems  to  be  realised  before 
one's  eyes."  * 

For  already,  before  the  dancer  makes  her  entrance,  we  are 
under  the  spell  of  music.  The  lights  have  been  subdued  and 
the  scene  is  one  of  grey-green  curtains,  falling  in  long,  simple 
folds  from  the  full  height  of  the  stage.  The  efi^ect  is  neither 
sombre  nor  gay;  just  a  tranquil  background  on  which  the  im- 
agination may  play,  so  that  when  there  appears  before  the 
sweeping  folds  a  small  appealing  figure,  it  comes  as  no  dis- 
cordant interruption  to  our  reveries  but  as  though  the  tone 

*  Reprinted  by  permission  from  '*  Camera  Work." 

[54] 


ISADORA  DUNCAN 

had  indeed  been  moulded  by  the  hands  of  Prometheus  and  its 
embodiment  were  set  before  our  eyes.  At  first  the  steps  are 
hesitating  and  wistful,  as  if  she  were  feeling  her  way  in  the 
new  world,  not  quite  sure  that  the  atmosphere  is  as  full  of  love 
and  gladness  as  her  heart  desires.  For  the  natural  spirit 
of  the  ethereal  creature  is  gladness,  and  soon  in  response  to 
the  gay  strains  of  music  she  swings  into  the  hit  of  gambolling 
Hmbs  and  flying  draperies.  It  is  the  epitome  of  all  the  pure 
natural  joy  that  belongs  to  the  beginning  of  life;  the  coming 
of  the  Spring,  the  first  buds  on  the  trees,  the  tiny  flowers,  still 
hidden  by  last  autumn's  leaves;  the  birds,  newly  arrived  from 
the  south.  So  joyous  is  it,  so  unpremeditated,  that  it  seems 
like  the  play  of  a  child  to  whom  sorrow  is  unknown  and  unbe- 
lievable, and  for  that  reason  it  has  the  child's  pathos. 

Such  is  the  beginning  of  her  dance  to  Gluck's  "Iphigenie  en 
Aulide." 

And,  now  as  we  may  know,  she  greets  her  girl-companions. 
For  gaiety  gives  place  to  comradeship.  The  hands  are  out- 
stretched in  friendly  welcome.  The  eyes  look  forth  fearlessly, 
frankly;  and  as  the  youthful  comrades  sport  and  play,  glance 
meets  glance  and  hand  seeks  hand.  The  ball  is  tossed  high  in 
the  air,  and  caught  with  outstretched  arms;  while  our  spirits 
bound  in  sympathy.  Then  on  the  soft  yielding  sand  the  young 
forms  throw  themselves  in  careless  abandonment  of  play.     The 

[55] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

knuckle-bones  are  strewn  before  them  and  the  half -recumbent 
form  bends  over  them,  the  white  hand  and  arms  flashing  over 
the  sand.  Eagerly  or  lazily,  with  careless  grace,  the  incarna- 
tion of  merry  sportfulness,  the  game  is  played.  Life  is  still 
nothing  but  brightness  and  youth  has  but  added  friendship  to 
the  joys  of  childhood. 

'  But  now  a  tender  note  of  deeper  feeling  is  felt.  The  maidens 
watch  for  the  returning  fleet.  There  is  longing  and  even 
anxiety.  The  deeper  feelings  of  life  are  awakening  and  pain 
can  no  longer  be  excluded.  There  has  been  parting  and  lone- 
liness before  this  looked-for  home-coming.  The  movements 
now  are  not  all  dancing.  A  lingering  step  sometimes.  Arms 
stretched  out  in  supplication  and  longing.  The  child  has  en- 
tered into  the  heritage  of  life,  fuller,  deeper  and  more  vital. 
The  gaze  is  intense,  the  outstretched  arms  vibrate  with  passion, 
the  feet  are  winged  with  longing.  No  carelessness  in  the 
present  joy,  but  exaltation.  Spring  has  ripened  into  summer 
and  some  of  the  blossoms  are  falling  and  withering  that  the 
fruit  may  form.  Spring  has  vanished  and  the  rose  is  come. 
But  there  is  gladness  and  beauty  in  the  rose,  even  while  its 
petals  fall  softly  through  the  air  and  flutter  to  the  ground  as 
in  a  caress.  And  just  as  softly  and  caressingly  the  feet  of  the 
dancer  press  the  ground,  as  she  glides  in  swift  expectancy  to 
greet  and  exult  in  the  coming  of  the  long  expected. 

[56] 


Photo,  by  White,  N.  Y. 


LYDIA  LOPOUKOWA  AND  MIKAIL  MORDKIN 


ISADORA   DUNCAN 

They  are  marvellous  in  their  subtle  changes  of  mood,  these 
dances  of  the  Old  Greek  Story.  Never  mimetic  in  the  sense 
of  direct  acting,  but  ever  suggestive  of  the  spirit  behind.  There 
are  no  steps,  no  pirouettes,  no  elevation  on  to  the  toes,  no  dis- 
play of  trained  agility,  nothing  but  natural  poses,  changing 
and  melting  into  each  other  harmoniously  and  insensibly.  They 
are  even  somewhat  limited  in  variety,  because  her  aim  is  not 
to  multiply  poses  but  to  discover  in  her  own  body  a  free  and 
natural  expression  of  what  her  intelligence  and  spirit  prompt. 

Meanwhile,  when  she  made  her  second  tour  in  this  country, 
it  was  evident  that  she  had  increased  her  range  of  movements ; 
and  to  the  knowing  eye  the  source  of  them  was  equally  clear. 
It  was  the  primitive  dance  of  the  Cambodians,  who  had  re- 
cently been  appearing  in  Paris.  They  had  swept  the  art- 
world  with  enthusiasm;  at  least,  that  portion  of  the  art- world 
which  is  under  the  sway  of  the  modern  motive.  The  latter,  on 
one  hand,  is  expression.  For  in  revolt  against  the  long  pre- 
occupation of  artists  with  the  representation  of  the  appearances 
of  nature,  whether  academically,  naturalistically,  realistically  or 
impressionally,  they  are  aiming  at  a  high  degree  of  abstraction. 
They  would  paint,  for  example,  the  human  figure,  still-life  or 
landscape,  not  for  the  sake  of  recording  how  either  looks,  but 
to  interpret  what  there  is  in  it  of  expressional  suggestion.  To 
the  younger  generation  this  motive  comes  as  a  novelty,  but  to 

[59] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF    TODAY 

one  man,  advanced  in  years,  it  has  been  the  consistent  motive 
of  his  life's  work.  This  man  is  Rodin,  of  whom  Miss  Duncan 
saw  much  during  the  two  years  preceding  her  second  visit  here ; 
the  period  in  which  Rodin  was  deeply  interested  in  the  Cam- 
bodian dancers.  Besides  studying  them  for  herself,  she  must 
have  seen  the  many  drawings  that  the  sculptor  made  of  them 
and  enjoyed  the  advantage  of  discussing  with  him  the  char- 
acter and  spirit  of  their  poses  and  gestures. 

They  have  their  root  in  a  phase  of  civihsation,  far  earlier  than 
the  classic  Greek,  yet  their  naturalness  has  become  affected  by 
certain  symbolical  conventions,  peculiar  to  themselves.  They 
are  even  sophisticated;  yet  with  a  sophistication  so  remote 
from  that  of  our  own  day,  that  it  has  all  the  allurement  of  the 
primitive. 

Its  form  and  spirit  are  unmistakable,  though  it  is  very  difficult 
to  describe  them  in  words.  Perhaps  one  approaches  a  sug- 
gestion of  them  in  the  assertion  that  they  involve  a  certain 
rhythmical  uncouthness.  The  poses  and  gestures  are  far  re- 
moved from  the  grace  of  Greek  art.  The  bodies  are  swayed 
less  by  intelligence  than  by  emotion,  and  the  latter  has  a  touch 
of  savagery,  a  suggestion  of  crude  earth.  Their  movements 
differ  from  those  of  the  Greek  dancer,  as  we  know  the  latter, 
somewhat  as  Han  pottery  differs  from  later  Chinese  porcelain. 

The  influence  of  this  appeared  in  Miss  Duncan's  interpretar- 

[60] 


ISADORA  DUNCAN 

tion  of  the  Dance  of  the  Furies  in  "Orphee."  Here  the  ex- 
pression of  concentrated  venom  and  malice  is  carried  out  with 
an  intensity  and  detail  more  dramatic,  savage,  earthly  than  in 
the  earlier  dances.  The  muscles  harden  in  the  face  and  limbs, 
the  movements  are  abrupt,  fierce,  now  bowed  and  now  angular. 
The  carriage  of  the  body  is  stiff  and  inflexible,  and  then  quivers 
and  vibrates  like  a  bow-string,  loosed  from  the  hand.  This 
dance  is  something  of  a  tour  de  force.  It  fascinates  one  by  the 
virtuosity  displayed  in  wedding  a  borrowed  convention  to  the 
free  expression  of  the  dancer's  own  nature.  It  has,  therefore, 
less  of  the  abstract,  impersonal  quahty  which  constitutes  the 
charm  of  Miss  Duncan's  earlier  work. 

It  is  this  very  charm,  however,  which  has  made  it  impossible 
to  secure  any  picture  that  can  give  an  adequate  idea  of  the 
exquisiteness  of  these  dances.  It  has  so  far  proved  beyond 
the  power  of  artists  in  other  mediums  to  translate  this  transient 
elusive  poetry  and  make  it  permanent  and  still  alive. 

Yet  not  even  in  the  "Orphee,"  still  less  in  the  "Iphigenie"  is 
there  an  attempt  at  expression  of  the  actual  facts  of  the  tragedy. 
In  the  latter  it  is  the  pathos,  that  any  doom  of  sorrow  should 
overtake  a  creature  so  gay  and  bright,  which  is  the  poignant 
note  throughout.  And  so  in  the  "Orphee"  dance  we  are  con- 
scious of  sorrow  overcome  by  beauty;  and  it  is  ever  the  beauty 
that  is  distilled  from  emotion  and  not  the  emotion  itself  which 

[61] 


DANCING  AND  DANCERS  OF  TODAY 

is  the  appeal  of  this  spiritualised  art.  In  one  dance  only  does 
she  seem  to  attempt  the  expression  of  the  actual  crisis  of 
tragedy,  and  this  has  not  been  seen  by  the  general  pubhc.  It 
is  the  dance  to  the  "Liebes-Todt"  of  Tristan  and  Isolde.  It 
shows  flashes  of  exquisite  beauty,  so  ethereal  that  they  could 
not  be  held  for  more  than  a  moment.  But  the  effect  was  too 
impalpable  for  a  general  audience  in  a  large  hall.  The  touch 
of  supreme  anguish  seemed  to  be  evaded,  just  when  one  was 
led  to  the  point  of  expectation.  Possibly  the  motives  of  the 
music  are  worked  out  in  too  great  a  detail  to  sustain  a  dance. 
But,  however  that  may  be,  the  impression  was  rather  like  being 
aware  that  something  was  present  of  rarest  beauty  of  which 
however  we  were  only  allowed  a  glimpse  now  and  then. 

It  goes  without  saying,  after  all,  that  a  spirit  so  sensitive  as 
Miss  Duncan's  to  the  diverse  moods  of  joyousness  and  gaiety 
cannot  fail  to  respond  to  the  deeper  emotions.  .  But  perhaps 
one  reason  that  our  spirits  respond  more  readily  to  the  sprightly 
appeal  is  that,  like  the  sunshine,  it  is  a  need  of  our  life  and  there 
is  none  too  much  of  it  in  our  modern  city  life.  Of  pleasure  or 
excitement  there  is  plenty;  but  pure,  spontaneous,  natural  joy 
comes  to  us  so  seldom  that  we  are  hungry  for  it.  Such  a  gay, 
careless  swagger,  for  example,  as  she  displays  in  the  ap- 
prentice's dance  in  the  "Meistersinger" ;  such  a  spontaneous 
burst  of  gladness  as  the  Schubert  "Moment  Musicale";  such 

[6£] 


Photo,  by  Otto  Sarony 
RUTH  ST.  DENIS  AS  RADHA  IN  THE  DANCE  OF  THE  FIVE  SENSES 


ISADORA   DUNCAN 

ecstasy  of  joy  as  the  Blue  Danube!  One  can  imagine  how  the 
inhabitant  of  the  dreary  Northern  winter  longs  for  and  greets 
the  return  of  the  Sun,  and  the  refreshment  that  it  brings  to 
him,  by  our  enjoyment  of  these.  Our  hearts  dance  with  the 
gay  dancing  figure  as  it  swings,  so  unencumbered  before  us,  so 
free. 

Freedom!  There  can  be  no  joy  without  it.  And  here  is 
Freedom  personified,  no  restraints  of  clothing,  no  shoe  to  bind 
the  foot.  No  convention  that  counts  or  orders  the  steps  of  the 
dance.  The  very  rhythm  of  the  music  translated  into  co- 
ordinated phrasing  rather  than  any  restricting  measured  beat. 
For  hardly  ever  do  we  find  any  regular  stepping  of  the  "one, 
two,  three,"  order.  Often  the  actual  step  is  taken  regardless 
of  the  measure  and  only  co-ordinated  by  expression.  Yet  the 
harmony  is  not  broken,  but  guided  and  balanced  to  a  perfect 
whole. 

We  speak  of  these  dances  as  Greek  or  primitive,  but  what 
could  be  more  modem  in  motive  than  this?  Are  we  not  learn- 
ing to  discard  rigid  rules  that  have  hardened  into  conventions- 
f or- the-sake-of -convention?  If  it  does  not  make  for  efficiency, 
let  it  go.  And  what  is  efficiency,  but  the  utmost  possible  ex- 
pression of  human  endeavour.  And  that  is  just  what  art  must 
be.  We  do  not  ignore  rules;  but  we  accept  the  essence  of 
the  rule  unreservedly,  that  we  can  break  the  letter  while  we 

[65] 

J 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

keep  the  spirit,  and  so  Isadora  Duncan  can  break  the  measure 
of  her  music,  because  she  keeps  the  expression. 

This  is  the  new  ideal  that  is  recreating  our  systems  of  educa- 
tion, and  it  is  an  inspiring  motive  not  only  to  Miss  Duncan's 
art  but  of  her  ideals  of  life.  To  educate  a  certain  number  of 
children  by  this  ideal  of  controlled  freedom  so  that  their  bodies 
and  minds,  following  healthy  instincts  without  conventional 
restraints,  shall  develop  in  balanced  harmony,  has  been  an 
ambition  very  dear  to  her  heart.  The  open  air,  freedom  from 
constraining  clothing,  wholesome  food,  but  food  to  be  desired, 
and  all  the  exercises  of  running  and  climbing  and  bathing  that 
the  growing  child  naturally  craves,  are  the  only  rules  imposed. 
For  the  rest  she  trusts  to  natural  impulses  and  desires,  guided 
by  well  balanced  instincts.  That  all  the  children  will  dance  be- 
cause they  wish  to  dance  is  her  hope,  but  none  will  be  trained 
with  tasks  and  exercises  that  mean  torture  to  unformed  bones, 
and  straining  the  growing  muscles,  in  order  to  make  dancers  of 
them.  TThat  they  will  be  helped  to  feel  consciously  the  joys 
of  perfect  poise  as  the  bare  foot  holds  the  ground,  of  the  up- 
ward spring  of  the  body,  we  may  well  believe;  for  all  of  these 
are  parts  of  the  human  heritage  of  joy,  which  too  many  of  us 
have  missed,  because  in  our  day  and  generation  teachers  were 
more  bent  on  curbing  or  irradicating  natural  instincts  than  in 
guiding  and  developing  them.    And  it  must  be  a  source  of  joy 

[66] 


ISADORA  DUNCAN 

to  Miss  Duncan  to  think  that  her  ideals,  as  set  forth  in  her  art, 
have  undoubtedly  had  their  share  in  convincing  the  modern 
world  of  the  beauty  and  desirability  of  thus  centering  the  con- 
trol of  moral  and  physical  being  not  in  authority  of  rules  and 
conventions  but  in  the  rightly  trained  desire  and  will ;  substitut- 
ing for  submission  to  control  a  true  sense  of  harmonious  balance. 

In  some  of  her  ideas,  no  doubt,  Miss  Duncan  has  run  so  far 
ahead  of  her  age  that  the  latter  is  left  in  doubt  as  to  the  direc- 
tion of  her  path.  Her  belief  in  the  sacredness  of  the  use  of  the 
nude  in  her  art,  in  which  she  has  led  the  way  for  other  modern 
dancers,  proves  a  stumbling  block  to  many.  Of  her  absolute 
sincerity,  and  the  purity  of  her  ideal,  there  is  no  doubt,  and  she 
stands  for  it  with  unflinching  courage. 

In  her  own  words,  "Only  the  movements  of  the  naked  body 
can  be  perfectly  beautiful.  Man,  arrived  at  the  end  of  civilisa- 
tion, will  have  to  return  to  nakedness;  not  the  unconscious 
nakedness  of  the  savage,  but  to  the  conscious  and  acknowledged 
nakedness  of  the  spiritual  being."  And  again  she  declares: 
"The»noblest  art  is  the  nude.  This  truth  is  recognised  by  all, 
and  followed  by  painters,  sculptors,  and  poets.  Only  the 
dancer  has  forgotten  it,  who  should  remember  it,  as  the  instru- 
ment of  her  art  is  the  human  body  itself.  Man's  first  con- 
ception of  beauty  is  gained  from  the  form  and  symmetry  of  the 
human  body.    The  new  school  of  the  dance  should  be  that  move- 

[67] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

ment  which  is  in  harmony  with,  and  which  will  develop,  the 
highest  form  of  the  human  body." 

r  And  again,  as  to  her  conception  of  the  dance  of  the  future, 
Miss  Duncan  shall  speak  for  herself:  "From  what  I  have  said 
you  might  conclude  that  my  intention  is  to  return  to  the  dances 
of  the  old  Greeks,  or  that  I  think  that  the  dance  of  the  future 
will  be  a  revival  of  the  antique  dances,  or  even  of  those  of  the 
primitive  tribes.  No,  the  dance  of  the  future  will  be  a  new 
movement,  a  consequence  of  the  entire  evolution  which  man- 
kind has  passed  through.  To  return  to  the  dances  of  the 
Greeks  would  be  as  impossible  as  it  is  unnecessary.  We  are  not 
Greeks  and  cannot  therefore  dance  Greek  dances.  But  the 
dance  of  the  future  will  have  to  become  again  a  high,  religious 
art,  as  it  was  with  the  Greeks.  For  art  which  is  not  religious 
is  not  art ;  it  is  mere  merchandise. 

*'The  dancer  of  the  future  will  be  one  whose  body  and  soul 
have  grown  so  harmoniously  together  that  the  natural  language 
of  that  soul  will  have  become  the  movement  of  the  body.  The  ^ 
dancer  will  not  belong  to  a  nation  but  to  all  humanity.*  She 
will  dance  not  in  the  form  of  nymph,  nor  fairy,  nor  coquette, 
but  in  the  form  of  woman  in  its  greatest  and  purest  expression. 
She  will  realise  the  mission  of  woman's  body  and  the  holiness 
of  all  its  parts.  She  will  dance  the  changing  life  of  nature, 
showing  how  each  part  is  transformed  into  the  other.    From 

[68] 


ISADORA   DUNCAN 

all  parts  of  her  body  shall  shine  radiant  intelligence,  bringing 
to  the  world  the  message  of  the  thoughts  and  inspirations  of 
thousands  of  women.  She  shall  dance  the  freedom  of  woman. 
She  will  help  womankind  to  a  new  knowledge  of  the  possible 
strength  and  beauty  of  their  bodies,  and  the  relation  of  their 
bodies  to  the  earth  nature  and  to  the  children  of  the  future. 

"  Oh,  she  is  coming,  the  dancer  of  the  future ;  the  free  spirit, 
who  will  inhabit  the  body  of  new  women;  more  glorious  than 
any  woman  that  has  yet  been;  more  beautiful  than  the  Egyp- 
tian, than  the  Greek,  the  early  Italian,  than  all  women  of  past 
centuries — the  highest  intelligence  in  the  freest  body!" 


[69] 


CHAPTER  IV 

MAUD  ALLAN 

TO  most  lovers  of  the  dance  in  America  Miss  Maud 
Allan  is  known  only  by  hearsay,  for,  although  she  has 
made  an  appearance  in  New  York,  it  was  during  the 
dearth,  artistically  speaking,  of  the  summer-season,  and  under 
circumstances  not  very  congenial  to  art.  She  was  received, 
in  consequence,  not  so  much  as  an  artist  as  a  sensational 
curiosity. 

She  has  written  a  little  story  of  her  life,  which  is  interesting 
as  showing  the  steps  by  which  she  gradually  reached  the  idea 
of  becoming  a  dancer.  Her  early  childhood  was  spent  in 
Canada,  whence  her  family  moved  to  California.  Here  she 
enjoyed  the  liberty  of  country  life  and  showed  a  marked  apti- 
tude for  physical  exercises,  becoming  an  expert  rider  and 
swimmer.  Meanwhile  she  exhibited  sufficient  talent  for  music 
to  suggest  the  hope  that  she  might  develop  into  a  professional 
pianist.  She  was  accordingly  placed  in  the  San  Francisco 
School  of  Music  under  the  tuition  of  Mr.  E.  S.  Bonelli,  and  be- 
gan a  thorough  course  in  the  practice,  theory  and  history  of 
music.     It  was  during  the  early  days  of  her  studentship  that 

[70] 


MAUD  ALLEN  IN  "  MOMENTS  MUSICALS 


MAUD   ALLAN 

she  saw  Madame  Sara  Bernhardt.  The  magic  charm  of  the 
latter's  acting  made  a  deep  impression  on  her.  It  revealed  to 
her  consciousness  that  there  were  other  forms  of  expression  be- 
side musical  ones.  It  was  not  so  much  the  great  artiste's  voice 
that  aroused  the  child's  imagination,  as  her  use  of  her  body.  It 
was  the  first  inkling  of  what  the  young  student  came  to  realise 
later;  the  capabilities  of  the  body  as  an  instrument  of  emotional 
expression. 

In  time  she  proceeded  to  Germany  to  continue  her  musical 
studies,  and  it  was  during  one  of  her  vacations,  spent  in 
Florence,  that  she  received  the  second  stimulus  to  what  was  to 
be  after  all  her  chosen  art.  In  the  Accademia  she  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Botticelli's  "Allegory  of  Spring."  In  the 
fluent  rhythms  and  intricate  harmonies  of  that  spiritualised  com- 
position she  discovered  analogies  to  the  rhythms  and  harmonies 
of  music.  What  she  had  hitherto  experienced  in  her  brain  be- 
came visible  to  her  eye.  Music  seemed  to  be  embodied  in  the 
figures  of  "Primavera"  and  the  dancing  Graces.  More  than 
this,  she  felt  herself  in  these  figures ;  felt  their  movements  and 
winding  rhythms  stirring  in  her  own  body.  There  was 
awakened  within  her  the  longing  to  be  herself  an  instrument  of 
emotional  expression;  and  the  desire  was  increased  in  her  when 
she  saw  Botticelli's  "Birth  of  Venus."  Henceforth,  while  con- 
tinuing her  musical  studies  she  became  also  an  eager  student  of 

[73] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

pictures  and  sculpture,  always  with  a  view  of  learning  the 
secret  of  physical,  plastic  expression,  and  this  led  her  to  the 
study  of  nature's  rhythms  to  be  seen  in  moving  grass  and  danc- 
ing water,  in  flight  of  birds  and  swaying  of  trees ;  in  the  infinite 
examples  of  nature's  universal  rhythm. 

Gradually  the  piano  became  less  sufficient  to  her;  it  was  the 
instrument  of  her  own  body  that  she  felt  a  growing  need  to 
cultivate.  She  devoted  an  increasing  amount  of  her  time  to 
physical  culture ;  not,  however,  to  a  formal  routine  of  exercises, 
but  to  movements  expressive  of  a  thought.  The  latter  might 
be  inspired  by  a  statue,  a  picture,  something  observed  in  nature, 
or  some  imagined  experience;  whatever  it  was  the  movements 
of  the  body  were  attuned  to  the  expression  of  the  emotions,  thus 
mentally  conceived.  In  her  own  words — "A  woman  who  seeks 
grace  of  movement  is  best  served  when  she  strives  to  harmonise 
motion  with  inspiration,  be  it  that  of  music,  the  graceful  figure 
of  some  statue  or  picture  that  imagination  has  endowed  with 
moving  life,  or  memory  of  some  nature  picture,  a  wind-rippled 
wheatfield,  or  the  dance  of  autumnal  forest  leaves."  And  she 
adds:  'With  such  things  as  these  for  inspiration  and  stimulus, 
time  does  not  count." 

To  appreciate  the  fulness  of  meaning  in  this  remark,  one 
must  be  young  or  still  have  the  memory  of  youth,  and  must 
have  known  such  desire  of  self-expression,  and  the  joy  of  culti- 

[74] 


MAUD  ALLAN 

vating  it.  It  is  to  find  oneself  in  a  new  and  brighter  world, 
treading  the  mountain-tops  of  aspiration,  breathing  the  upper 
air  of  spiritual  exaltation;  the  body  seeming  to  be  glorified  by 
the  spirit  which  possesses  it,  and  the  spirit  in  turn  to  be  en- 
riched by  union  with  the  physical  elation.  It  was  the  wedding 
of  body  and  spirit  in  an  inseparable  union  to  promote  the  fullest 
harmony  of  existence  which  was  the  basis  of  Delsarte's  phi- 
losophy and  system  of  expression.  It  finds  its  ultimate  aim  in 
Ruskin's  admonition — "Fix,  then,  this  in  your  mind,  that  your 
art  is  to  be  the  praise  of  something  you  love.  As  soon  as  the 
Artist  forgets  his  function  of  praise  in  that  of  imitation,  his 
art  is  lost." 

In  1901  Miss  Allan  spent  the  summer  months  in  Weimer, 
studying  the  piano  with  Busoni.  In  the  autumn  of  the  same 
year  she  was  again  in  Berlin,  where  she  had  the  privilege  of 
meeting  Marcel  Remy,  who  later  composed  the  music  for  her 
**Vision  of  Salome."  Of  this  Belgian  composer,  who  was  also 
a  savant  and  a  Greek  scholar,  she  made  a  confidant.  He  en- 
tered with  warm  sympathy  into  her  desire  and  ambition,  and 
encouraged  her  by  speaking  of  the  unending  possibilities  open 
to  anyone  who  would  try  to  learn  the  old  Hellenic  spirit  of  the 
dance,  and  thus  recreate  a  lost  art.  Under  his  inspiration  she 
began  to  study  the  poses  and  dresses  represented  in  the  ex- 
amples of  Greek  art.    He  would  come  to  her  study,  and,  sitting 

[75] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF    TODAY 

at  the  piano,  play  some  piece  from  Bach,  Beethoven,  Schuhert, 
or  Schumann,  or  at  other  times  improvise  while  she  practised 
herself  in  interpreting  the  music.  Finally,  she  made  her  debut 
in  dancing  at  the  Theatre  Hall  of  the  Royal  Conservatoire  of 
Music,  in  Vienna,  to  the  accompaniment,  partly  of  orchestra, 
partly  of  grand  piano.  This  was  in  1903.  Since  then  she  has 
appeared  in  many  German  cities,  toured  Switzerland,  Austria 
and  Hungary,  and  performed  in  Paris.  In  March,  1908,  she 
made  her  first  appearance  in  London  at  the  Palace  Theatre. 
As  one  of  the  first  of  the  modern  dancers  who  have  en- 
deavoured, not  to  imitate  the  manner  of  the  Greek  dance,  but  to 
emulate  its  spirit.  Miss  Allan  has  had  to  bear  her  share  of 
criticism.  Much  of  it  was  based  on  the  notion  that  the  dis- 
tinguishing feature  of  the  dances  was  the  fact  that  they  were 
performed  with  bare  feet,  and  in  scanty  draperies,  which  re- 
vealed the  nudity  of  the  limbs.  Some  of  them,  it  is  true,  in- 
volved these  features;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  such  a  one  as  "the 
Dance  Sacred  and  Profane"  was  accompanied  by  voluminous 
draperies,  while,  in  "Chopin's  Funeral  March"  the  figure  was 
completely  shrouded.  The  motive,  in  fact,  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  quantity  or  character  of  the  costume;  the  latter  being 
purely  incidental  to  the  artist's  conception  of  her  theme  and 
to  the  expression  of  it.  And  as  this  came  to  be  realised  general 
criticism  evaporated.     It  took,  however,  a  particular  shape  in 

[76] 


MAUD  ALLEN  IN  HER  "  DANCE  OF  SALOME 


MAUD   ALLAN 

opposition  to  her  rendering  of  "The  Vision  of  Salome."  Some 
who  applauded  her  other  dances  recoiled  from  this  one,  either 
because  it  interpreted  a  page  of  history  that  was  recorded  in  the 
Bible  or  because  the  theme  itself  was  felt  to  be  revolting. 

This  is  no  place  to  enter  into  a  discussion,  pro  or  con^  of 
these  objections;  but,  in  view  of  them,  it  is  interesting  to  recall 
the  artist's  own  explanation  of  her  conception  of  the  theme. 
Briefly,  she  pictures  Salome  as  an  innocent  girl  of  fourteen, 
brought  up  in  the  seclusion  of  the  children's  quarter  of  the 
palace.  She  has  no  knowledge  that  the  luxury  with  which 
she  is  surrounded  was  part  of  the  marriage  dowry  of  her  aunt, 
whom  Herod  had  put  away  that  he  might  marry  the  girl's 
mother,  Herodias.  Only  one  harsh  note  had  disturbed  the 
peace  of  her  life.  A  whisper  had  run  through  the  halls,  re- 
peated by  slave  to  slave,  that  this  luxury  had  been  denounced 
and  the  vengeance  of  Almighty  God  invoked  upon  her  mother 
by  "one  crying  in  the  wilderness."  Yet  the  continuity  of  her 
quiet  life  goes  on.  Suddenly  she  is  summoned  to  the  presence 
of  the  Tetrarch  and  is  bidden  to  dance  before  the  "lords,  high 
captains  and  chief  estates  of  Galilee."  She  has  often  danced  to 
please  her  father  and  mother  in  old  days  and  the  playmates  of 
her  present  life,  but  she  falters  at  appearing  before  this  high 
assembly.  But,  gathering  heart  from  the  rude,  plaintive 
cadence  of  the  music,  she  springs  into  the  great  hall.     Blind 

[79] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

to  the  circle  of  inflamed  eyes,  she  sees  only  Herod  and  her 
mother,  and  for  them  and  them  alone  weaves  her  most  ingenious 
witcheries  of  dance,  and,  as  the  music  dies  in  a  whirl  of  passion, 
falls  panting  in  obeisance  before  the  throne. 

She  hears  the  Tetrarch's  voice,  "Ask  of  me  whatsoever  thou 
wilt  and  I  will  give  it  thee."  Dazed,  frightened  by  she  knows 
not  what,  she  takes  refuge  in  her  mother's  bosom.  "What  shall 
I  ask?"  she  whispers,  and  the  mother  answers,  "The  head  of 
John  the  Baptist." 

It  is  brought  in,  terror  and  horror  seize  the  child,  she  flees 
to  the  terrace  garden,  but  the  horror  pursues  her,  for  there  is 
blood  upon  her  hands.  The  sight  turns  her  for  a  moment  to 
stone,  then  brings  back  the  whole  ghastly  scene,  as  in  a  vision. 

She  is  dancing  again,  as  in  a  dream,  and  once  more  tastes  the 
joy  of  her  triumph.  Suddenly  from  out  the  distance  comes  a 
wail  of  distress  and  the  head  of  John  the  Baptist  rises  before 
her,  she  has  a  wild  desire  to  take  it  in  her  hands.  Ecstasy 
mingles  with  dread,  she  lays  it  on  the  floor  and  dances  round  it 
in  a  mad  whirl  of  childish  joy,  until  exhaustion  breaks  the  spell 
and  she  falls  to  the  ground. 

She  awakens;  the  ordeal  she  has  gone  through  has  changed 
the  child  into  a  woman.  For  a  moment  she  is  conscious  of 
superior  power,  then  of  a  power  superior  to  her  own.  Her 
first  impulse,  to  conquer  it,  is  followed  by  another.     She  longs 

[80] 


MAUD   ALLAN 

to  be  conquered,  craving  the  spiritual  guidance  of  the  man 
whose  head  is  before  her.  But  the  lips  are  silent,  and  in  her 
agony  for  help  she  presses  her  own  upon  them.  In  their  cold 
touch  she  realises  the  strange  grandeur  of  a  power  higher  than 
she  has  ever  dreamed  of.  She  begs  and  prays  for  mercy.  A 
vision  of  the  joy  of  Salvation  hovers  before  her.  She  stretches 
out  her  trembling  arms,  but  the  vision  disappears.  Her 
anguish  overpowers  her  and  she  falls,  still  grasping  with  her 
hands  for  her  lost  Redemption.  She  pays  the  atonement  of 
her  mother's  sin. 


[81] 


CHAPTER  V 

RUTH  ST.  DENIS 

AVAST  gloomy  temple  is  revealed,  spotted  here  and 
there  with  flickering  lights,  Indian  ornament  and 
pillars  encrusted  with  gold,  dulled  by  centuries  of 
time  and  incense  smoke.  Strange  figures,  supporting  the  dome 
roof,  and  on  the  ground,  wrapt  in  meditation,  the  squatting 
bronzed  forms  of  almost  nude  devotees ;  their  white  turbans  and 
loin-cloths  catching  a  gleam  of  the  faint  light  which  pierces  the 
fretted  door  of  the  shrine.  An  atmosphere  of  mystery  and  de- 
votion, belonging  to  another  civilisation  and  another  age.  Then 
wailing  music,  as  the  worshippers,  offering  their  gifts,  prostrate 
themselves  before  the  shrine. 

Presently  through  the  incense  smoke  we  are  conscious  that 
the  doors  are  opened  and  the  impassive  form  of  the  goddess, 
wrapt  in  contemplation,  is  revealed. 

The  music  becomes  more  poignant,  fresh  spires  of  smoke 
wreathe  up  before  her.  Her  limbs  become  animate.  Or  is  it 
the  flickering  of  the  lights?  No,  slowly  the  throb  of  life  creeps 
into  the  face.  The  eyes  half  open;  the  head  is  slightly  raised; 
the  bosom  heaves ;  the  head  turns  slowly.    Rhada  has  awakened 

[82] 


RUTH    ST.   DENIS 

from  her  long  repose  and  gazes  curiously  at  her  worshippers. 

Then,  slowly  slipping  from  her  throne,  she  pauses  to  enjoy 
the  pulsations  of  life,  the  warm  breath  of  the  air  and  the  luxury 
of  the  moment.  By  degrees,  as  her  dazzled  worshippers  bend 
their  heads,  she  tastes  the  joys  and  sensations  with  which  she 
has  endowed  mortals,  and  glides  into  the  Dance  of  the  Five 
Senses. 

Sight  is  awakened  by  the  sheen  and  hues  of  the  jewels 
which  bedeck  her  body,  and  reflect  the  quivering  lights ;  Hear- 
ing, by  the  little  silver  bells  that  tinkle,  as  she  bends  to  catcK 
their  varied  detonations,  her  whole  body  alert  to  note  their 
differences;  Smell,  by  the  garlands  of  flowers,  in  which  she 
wreathes  herself,  drawing  them  luxuriously  around  her,  crush- 
ing them  against  her  shimmering  flesh  as  though  all  parts  of 
her  would  partake  of  their  fragrance ;  Touch,  by  a  satin-petalled 
lotus,  laid  in  turn  to  her  cheek,  her  arm,  her  lips;  while  the 
smooth  ripple  of  muscles  under  her  glossy  skin  responds  with 
shivers  of  sensitive  sympathy  to  the  caressing  pressure  of  her 
foot  upon  the  ground.  Every  nerve  is  sensitive  and  in  turn 
conveys  the  message.     Then,  most  human  of  all,  Taste. 

She  drinks,  and  for  one  brief  moment  the  goddess  is  intoxi- 
cated with  human  sensation  and,  flinging  away  the  bowl, 
abandons  herself  to  the  passion  of  life.  In  time  the  spell  is 
over  and  she  sinks  to  the  ground.     Then,  slowly  gathering  the 

[85] 


DANCING  AND  DANCERS  OF  TODAY 

self-control  of  ages,  she  rises,  steps  past  the  prostrate  wor- 
shippers and  the  glowing  flames  of  the  sacrificial  fires  back  to 
the  aloofness  and  solitude  of  her  godhead.  Her  limbs  are 
folded;  the  hands  rest  upon  the  knees;  animation  dies  down- — 
down,  till  again  there  is  only  stillness,  a  supreme  patience.  The 
lights  flicker  out,  the  gates  of  the  shrine  are  closed.  The  atmos- 
phere of  mystery  and  devotion  are  far  removed  from  a  Broad- 
way vaudeville  stage.  Yet  it  was  on  the  latter  that  was  first 
exhibited  to  New  York  this  Dance  of  the  Five  Senses  by  Ruth 
St.  Denis. 

It  was  a  strong  impulse  that  prompted  this  woman,  American 
born  and  bred,  to  saturate  herself  with  the  spirit  and  mystery 
of  the  Orient  and  translate  them  with  such  faithfulness  to  our 
Occidental  imaginations.  She  was  already  a  trained  dancer, 
before  the  interpretive  idea  of  dancing  took  possession  of  her 
mind.  Accordingly,  when  later  she  came  in  touch  with  the 
mysticism  of  the  Orient,  she  was  fired  with  desire  to  express  its 
symbolism  in  dances,  founded  on  the  mysteries  of  those  ancient 
temples.  She  studied  with  East  Indian  natives,  not  only  the 
forms  of  the  dances,  but  the  sombre,  yet  gorgeous,  colouring 
that  is  a  feature  of  the  decoration  of  their  rock-hewn  temples. 
Such  was  the  bias  of  her  temperament,  that  it  was  no  eif  ort  to 
her  to  put  aside  her  Caucasian  point  of  view  and  absorb  with 
all  reverence  that  of  the  Orient.     Thus  she  evolved  with  the 

[86] 


RUTH    ST.   DENIS 

help  of  her  Oriental  teachers  these  dances  which  express  in  a 
manner  not  too  exotic  for  our  grasp,  the  passionless  rhapsody 
of  a  mystical  sensuousness. 

'No  wonder  that  managers,  amazed  and  confused,  held  back 
at  first  from  opening  their  doors  to  this  new  aspirant;  such 
thorough  abandon  to  rapture  which  was  devoid  of  sexual  ap- 
peal— cold  and  clear  as  crystal— was  utterly  beyond  their  ken. 
It  held  no  allure  for  the  ordinary  habitue  of  the  Great  White 
Way,  So  one  by  one  they  shook  their  heads,  and  bowed  her 
out  of  their  offices,  until  at  last  a  manager,  more  far-seeing  than 
the  rest,  offered  her  a  "turn"  in  the  ordinary  vaudeville  pro- 
gramme. 

Only  her  deep  faith  in  the  reality  of  her  chosen  field  of  art, 
which  had  urged  her  to  pursue  and  perfect  it  in  the  face  of 
every  obstacle,  could  have  persuaded  her  that  it  would  triumph 
even  over  the  incongruous  surroundings,  and  capture  an  audi- 
ence which,  having  witnessed  the  trick  bicycle-rider,  would 
presently  yell  with  delight  at  the  black-face  comedians.  Every 
penny  that  Miss  St.  Denis  could  raise  was  invested  in  giving  the 
trial  venture  a  suitable  setting.  Everything  depended  on  its 
first  reception.  If  ever  faith  might  falter  this  would  be  the 
time.  But  Ruth  St.  Denis  had  faith  in  herself,  her  art  and  her 
pubhc^ — and  it  was  justified. 

Not  that  the  vaudeville  audience,  as  a  whole,  comprehended 

[87] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

her  aspirations.  At  first  there  was  a  distinct  gasp  of  amaze- 
ment; wonderment  whether  to  disapprove  of  the  audacity  or  to 
resent  the  lofty  aloofness  of  the  conception.  But  in  each  au- 
dience were  a  few  who  responded  unreservedly  to  the  beauty  of 
the  appeal  and  went  out  and  told  others  of  the  rare  vision  they 
had  seen.  These,  in  turn,  spread  the  good  news  until  the  mana- 
ger was  surprised  to  find  at  each  performance  a  stream  of  peo- 
ple of  a  type  not  usually  seen  at  a  vaudeville  performance,  who 
came  just  before  "Rhada's"  appearance  and  hurried  away  as 
soon  as  her  curtain  fell,  and  who  came  again  and  yet  again. 
Truly  the  people  who  came  and  saw  and  were  conquered  were 
a  cause  of  some  surprise  to  others  than  the  manager. 

The  American  public  is  very  prudish.  Yet  here,  a  beautiful 
body  was  displayed  with  no  casings  to  interrupt  the  play  of 
light  on  the  bronze  skin  or  hide  the  play  of  muscles  of  the  lithe 
limbs.  But  the  crystal  purity  of  the  dancer's  intent  seemed  to 
have  reflected  itself  in  the  minds  of  her  audience  and  banished 
every  thought  of  prejudice. 

Her  growth  out  of  the  uncongenial  soil  of  American  condi- 
tions and  the  form  it  took  is  perhaps  to  be  explained  by  her 
parentage.  In  her  the  strain  of  Celt  is  mingled  with  that  of 
the  Puritan.  Through  the  latter  she  has  inherited  that  vision- 
ary trait  which  often  has  exhibited  itself  in  transcendentalism, 
and  this  in  her  case  has  been  warmed  and  humanised  by  the 

[88] 


^^^^K 

m 

> 

4 

\,  ■■     •     ■■* 

.^"-"'^M 

K 

^^ 

Hk 

p^v 

1 

^    ji?  J^^  '  ''' 

It 

^^^tSf 

B^p                    •  •  • 

•y  V  .    •••  • 

Photo,  by  Otto  Sarony 


RUTH  ST.  DENIS  AS  RADHA.      TEMPLE  DANCES 


RUTH    ST.   DENIS 

Celtic  imagination.  Her  art  is  to  her  a  veritable  religion.  Nor 
is  this  to  be  understood  in  a  metaphorical  sense ;  but  as  a  literal 
fact.  One  cannot  be  long  in  her  company  without  realising  it, 
nor  fail  to  miss  the  influence  it  has  had  upon  both  her  career 
and  her  art.  It  has  given  her  a  faith  which  removes  mountains, 
makes  nought  of  difficulties,  and  compels  achievement.  After 
she  had  surmounted  the  obstacles  wliich  stood  in  the  way  of  her 
first  appearance  in  this  country,  she  felt  within  her  the  call  to 
proceed  to  Europe  for  further  study  and  a  larger  field  of  sym- 
pathy. The  call  had  the  solemn  authority  of  a  divine  intima- 
tion. She  had  received  it  and  was  bound  to  heed  it.  We 
saw  her  before  she  sailed,  and,  though  she  was  going  among 
strangers,  ill-supplied  with  funds  and  scarcely  better  equipped 
with  introductions,  she  told  us  that  she  had  no  fear.  "God  had 
put  it  into  her  mind  to  go  and  the  outcome  was  in  His  hands." 
Her  faith  was  justified.  Her  dances  were  warmly  received 
abroad  and  nowhere  more  so  than  in  Munich,  the  leading  artists 
of  that  delightfully  artistic  community  extending  to  her  and  her 
art  the  warmest  appreciation.  The  year  following  her  visit 
to  the  city,  they  were  still  talking  of  her  with  unstinted  en- 
thusiasm. Since  then,  during  a  visit  to  the  Pacific  coast,  she 
has  had  the  opportunity  of  studying  Oriental  mysticism  from 
the  angle  of  the  Japanese  imagination. 

All  symbolism  of  worship  comes  under  her  study,  and  she 

[911 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

penetrates  to  the  inner  core  of  its  meaning.  For  example, 
the  subtle  moods,  always  dreamy  and  vague,  of  her  Incense 
Dance,  which  is  hardly  more  than  a  series  of  poses,  portrays  the 
mental  exaltation,  the  upward  wind  of  the  spirit  which  is  true 
worship. 

The  flimsy  draperies,  the  dull  lustre  of  the  vessels,  and  the 
absence  of  any  very  definite  or  decisive  movement — all  are 
suggestive  of  reverie  rather  than  ecstasy,  of  the  preparation 
rather  than  of  the  consummation.  The  dancer  herself  ceases 
to  have  a  personality.  She  is  but  an  emanation,  a  shadow  only 
a  httle  more  substantial  than  the  smoke  spirals  which  curl  up- 
ward from  the  vessels  before  her.  So  vague,  so  impalpable,  is 
this  figure  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  identify  it  with  the 
vivid,  self-concentrated  creature  that  glides  so  insouciantly 
onto  the  stage  at  another  time  in  the  Cobra  Dance. 

Here,  cruel  and  heartless,  with  long  lazy  limbs,  carelessly 
lounging  in  undulating  grace,  and  long  lazy  eyes,  half  closed 
with  drooping  lids,  she  is  still,  intense  and  vital.  Then,  the 
long,  rounded  arms  begin  to  glide  and  writhe  and  coil,  as  the 
cobra-like  hands  curve  and  flatten  and  raise  themselves.  Are 
they  hands  or  serpents'  heads?  What  follows  then?  Surely  the 
coils  of  the  cobra  body.  And  above  them  the  face.  Still, 
intense,  but  full  of  vibrant  concentration.  The  whole  body  is 
changed,  one  feels  the  strength  and  sinuousness  in  every  part, 

[92] 


RUTH    ST.   DENIS 

yet  it  is  smooth,  rounded,  unhurried.  Technique  and  com- 
mand of  muscles?  Yes,  to  be  sure;  but  above  that  a  deep,  in- 
forming spirit,  which  has  absorbed  the  snake  motive  and  is  in- 
fusing it  into  every  part  of  the  body. 

It  is  this  ability  to  intellectualise  sensation  and  then  discover 
a  means  of  interpreting  it,  which  characterises  all  Miss  St. 
Denis'  impersonations.  Study  again  the  action  of  the  dance  of 
the  "Touch"  in  the  Dance  of  the  Five  Senses;  how  apart  from 
the  touch  of  the  flower  in  the  hand,  the  foot  caresses  the  ground 
and  the  feeling  is  expressed  through  the  leg ;  how  the  extended 
hand  seems  to  feel  the  air  and  the  whole  surface  of  the  body 
appears  to  be  sensitive  and  palpitating  with  expression.  How 
in  the  dance  of  "Taste,"  the  pleasure  and  ecstasy  run  through 
the  shoulders  and  neck  and  down  to  the  firmly  planted  feet. 
It  is  emotion  raised  to  an  abstract  power.  It  is  not  some  one 
person's  sense  of  taste;  but  the  sense  of  Taste.  And  so 
through  all  these  dances  until  the  goddess  goes  back  into  her 
shrine  and  life  and  animation  fade  from  her  face.  The  limbs 
lose  their  elasticity  as  the  whole  figure  settles  back  into  placidity, 
the  Nirvana  of  the  Buddhist. 

The  art  of  Ruth  St.  Denis  was  peculiarly  fitted  to  make  the 
first  serious  assault  on  the  American  appreciation,  because  it 
has  that  appeal  to  the  intellect,  that  literary  quality,  which  is 
the  one  to  which  our  training  and  ideals  have  made  us  more 

[93] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

susceptible.  We  all  knew,  or  thought  we  knew,  something 
about  Temple  dances.  But  we  did  not  know  enough  to  take 
them  too  literally.  Our  knowledge  was  highly  fraught  with 
indistinctness,  so  that  the  appeal  through  our  intellects  to  our 
imagination  was  very  happy.  The  motive  was  never  too  subtle 
or  intangible  but  that  we  might  gather  something  which  we 
would  translate  into  our  own  language.  For  the  writer  there 
was  something  else  than  emotional  adjectives;  for  the  painter 
and  photographer,  direct  inspiration ;  for  the  musician,  rhythmic 
harmonies  of  movement  which  suggested  music.  For  each  of 
us  something  that  we  could  understand. 

Thus  it  arrested  the  attention  of  the  public,  as  a  merely 
esthetic  appeal  might  not  have  done  at  that  time,  and  forced 
them  to  take  the  art  of  Ruth  St.  Denis  seriously.  And  this  is 
just  what  they  had  never  done  before  with  the  art  of  Dancing, 
Pretty,  amusing,  even  charming  it  might  have  been;  but  never 
before  had  they  met  in  the  dance  this  high  seriousness  of  pur- 
pose, which  compelled  a  like  seriousness  of  consideration.  And 
so,  this  first  appearance  was  really  a  matter  of  much  significance 
and  had  its  effect  in  the  consideration  shown  to  other  dancers 
who  have  followed  through  succeeding  years. 

That  it  was  not  only  the  novelty  of  the  appeal  which  had  won 
our  approbation  was  indicated,  as  has  been  noted,  by  the  verdict 
of  Europe.    The  Temple  Dances  were  greeted  there  as  a  truly 

[94] 


Photo,  by  White,  N.  Y. 

RUTH  ST.  DENIS  IN  THE  DANCE  OF  THE  FIVE  SENSES,  OF  THE 
TEMPLE  DANCES 


RUTH    ST.   DENIS 

worth-while  contribution  to  the  sum  of  the  beauty.  Mean- 
while, other  dancers  became  assured  that  a  people  who  would 
produce  such  an  artist  would  not  be  irresponsive  to  the  appeal  of 
the  Dance.  Accordingly,  the  door  was  opened,  and  since  then 
every  season  brings  its  quotum  of  dancers. 

The  sleeping  goddess  has  awakened;  but  unlike  the  Rhada 
of  the  Shrine  has  remained  to  gladden  the  eyes  of  her  votaries 
in  many  various  manifestations.  From  each  we  catch  fresh  in- 
spiration of  Beauty  and  Joy  and  gain  with  each  a  little  more  of 
the  power  to  draw  an  impersonal  and  abstract  delight.  We  are 
becoming  votaries  of  the  Dance;  not  only  of  the  Dancer. 


[97] 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  BALLET 

THE  art  of  the  Ballet  is  an  evolution  from  the  same 
source  as  that  of  the  drama.  Both  have  come  to 
us  in  their  present  form  through  the  pageants  and 
mystery  plays  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Both  have  their  counter- 
part in  the  earliest  games  played  by  children  of  all  countries,  in 
which  song  and  rhythmic  ordered  movement  and  pantomime 
gestures  form  a  large  part. 

The  culture  of  the  Renaissance  caused  a  demand  for  some- 
thing less  crude  than  the  miracle  and  mystery  plays  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  and  the  masque,  with  its  combination  of  music, 
poetry  and  dancing  became  the  diversion  of  the  upper 
classes.  Toward  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century  we  find  the 
dance  occupying  by  far  the  largest  share  of  the  attention  and 
these  dance-dramas,  performed  on  occasions  of  state  by  the 
flower  of  the  young  nobility,  under  the  name  of  ballets,  de- 
veloped into  events  of  great  magnificence.  In  the  sixteenth, 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries  they  were  truly  the  sport 
of  kings.  Produced  at  court  functions  with  great  lavishness 
of  setting  and  costume,  they  were  participated  in  by  the  royal 

[98] 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  BALLET 

family  and  members  of  the  court,  kings  themselves  not  disdain- 
ing to  appear  in  them.  They  were  almost  always  of  an  al- 
legorical or  mythological  character,  Virtue  conquering  Vice; 
Spring  overcoming  Winter,  and  so  forth ;  and  were  interspersed 
with  singing  and  dialogue.  Sometimes  these  masques  were 
combined  with  balls  in  which  the  actors  performed  quadrilles. 
Later,  an  explanatory  recitation  took  the  part  of  the  masque, 
the  quadrille  was  expanded  and  thus  the  drama-dance  as  in 
Greek  time  became  seriously  considered  as  an  art  of  expression. 
The  dancers  at  first  were  usually  amateurs  and  it  became  cus- 
tomary for  them  to  wear  masks,  representing  the  character  they 
performed.  So  deeply  rooted  was  this  practice,  that  when 
Gardel  appeared  without  one  in  1772  it  caused  much  sensation. 
One  of  the  earliest  and  most  memorable  records  of  ballet 
is  the  tragic  Ballet  des  Ardents.  Given  by  the  Duchesse  de 
Berri,  at  Paris,  early  in  the  fifteenth  century,  it  was  less  of  a 
ballet  as  we  at  present  understand  the  word  than  a  masquerade 
ball.  The  story  is  well  known.  Charles  VI  and  some  of  his 
companions  came  to  the  ball  disguised  as  savages,  in  costumes 
largely  consisting  of  tow,  and  chained  together.  As  they 
danced  among  the  ladies,  challenging  them  to  guess  their 
identity,  the  king's  brother,  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  snatched  up 
a  torch,  holding  it  among  them,  the  better  to  examine  them. 
In  a  minute  the  tow,  which  was  held  together  by  pitch,  was  in 

[99] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

flames.  The  unhappy  savages  chained  together  could  not  es- 
cape. Four  were  burnt  to  death,  one  saved  himself  by  break- 
ing his  chain  and  jumping  into  a  tub  of  water,  and  the  king  was 
saved  by  his  aunt,  the  Duchesse  de  Berri,  who  threw  her  mantle 
around  him.  But  the  shock  he  then  received  caused  his  mind  to 
give  way  and  he  never  thoroughly  regained  his  reason. 

In  spite  of  this  tragic  mishap  the  taste  for  ballet  became 
more  pronounced  during  the  two  succeeding  centuries,  both  in 
France  and  Italy.  We  find  in  1489  a  splendid  fete  given  in 
honour  of  the  Duke  of  Milan  and  his  bride,  Isabelle  of  Aragon. 
It  was  a  mixture  of  masque  ballet  and  banquet,  each  course  of 
the  latter  being  served  by  mythological  characters  ingeniously 
related  to  it,  who  performed  dances  expressive  of  their  parts. 
Thus,  the  cloth  was  set  by  Jason  and  the  argonauts,  bearing 
the  golden  fleece.  A  roasted  calf  was  contributed  by  Mercury. 
Diana  and  her  nymphs  bore  in  venison,  Hebe  served  the  nectar, 
Tritons  were  laden  with  fish,  and  so  forth.  Music  and  dancing 
were  introduced  into  this  gorgeous  pageant,  which  ended  with 
an  allegorical  masque. 

The  patronage  of  the  ballet  was  not  confined  to  courts  and 
nobles ;  the  dignitaries  of  the  church  also  gave  them  the  benefit 
of  their  attention  and  even  composed  ballets  and  had  them  per- 
formed. A  ballet  is  mentioned  as  being  given  by  the  council 
of  Trent  in  honour  of  Charles  the  Fifth.    In  all  probability  it 

[100] 


Photo,  by  White,  N.  Y. 


RUTH  ST.  DENIS  IN  THE  NAUTCH  DANCE 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  BALLET 

was  something  more  in  the  nature  of  a  ball.  Cardinals  and 
bishops  took  part  in  it,  and  it  was  opened  by  Cardinal  Ercole  of 
Mantua.  In  Portugal  the  church  organised  a  ballet  on  the  oc- 
casion of  the  beatification  of  St.  Ignatius  Loyola.  It  repre- 
sented the  siege  of  Troy  and  was  enacted  with  the  aid  of 
much  scenery  and  an  enormous  mechanical  horse,  which  moved 
in  the  procession  from  the  Church  of  Notre  Dame  de  Loretta  to 
the  Place  St.  Roch  where  scenery  was  set  up  to  represent  the 
city  of  Troy,  which  fell  at  the  approach  of  the  horse,  while  the 
Greeks  performed  marshalled  dances  amid  a  blaze  of  fireworks. 
The  following  day  the  pageant  represented  the  arrival  of  Am- 
bassadors from  the  four  corners  of  the  earth.  The  various 
personages  were  conveyed  in  mimic  brigantines,  propelled  in 
some  manner  through  the  streets;  each  company,  dressed  to 
represent  the  inhabitants  of  one  of  the  four  continents,  de- 
scended at  the  appointed  spot  and  performed  a  ballet. 

In  England  we  find  Queen  Elizabeth  entertaining  the  Grand 
Prior  of  France  and  the  Connetable  de  Montmorency  with  a 
ballet  danced  by  ladies  of  the  court  representing  the  Parables 
of  the  Ten  Virgins. 

Under  Catherine  de  Medici  the  ballet  became  a  regular  func- 
tion of  the  court,  and  a  master  of  court  ballet  was  appointed, 
an  Italian  named  Baltasarini,  who  was  called  in  France 
Beaujoyeux.     He  organised  fetes  and  ballets  on  a  gorgeous 

[103] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

scale,  inventing  mechanical  contrivances  to  enhance  their  splen- 
dour. He  also  introduced  trained  horses  into  his  ballet,  and 
taught  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  court  to  perform  in- 
tricate evolutions  while  riding  them.  The  ballet  of  Circe,  one 
of  his  most  famous  productions,  lasted  six  hours,  the  Queen 
Louise  Vaudemont  taking  the  part  of  prima  ballerina.  King 
Henry  III  playing  an  important  part. 

These  combined  pageant  ballets  through  the  sixteenth  and 
seventeenth  centuries  continued  to  be  enacted  with  great  mag- 
nificence, the  dancers  still  being  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the 
court,  though  occasionally  professional  musicians  were  pressed 
into  service,  not  only  to  provide  the  music  but  to  add  to  the 
magnificence  of  the  spectacle  by  filling  places  in  the  scenery 
that  must  have  been  somewhat  uncomfortable  if  not  hazardous. 
Thus,  Menestrier,  in  describing  a  ballet  performed  in  the  Salle 
des  Bourbons  in  1615  on  the  occasion  of  the  marriage  of 
Madame  with  the  King  of  Spain,  mentions:  ''Thirty  genii 
(being  the  chamber  and  chapel  musicians  of  the  King)  sus- 
pended in  the  air,  heralded  the  coming  of  Minerva,  the  Queen 
of  Spain;  Minerva  danced  to  five  separate  tunes  and  several 
figures  to  each  tune.  And  in  the  sixth  tune  all  voices  and 
lutes  and  violins  joined.  Then  Minerva  and  her  nymphs  all 
danced  together." 

The  title  of  '*Le  Roi  Soleil,"  by  which  Louis  XIV  was 

[104] 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  BALLET 

pleased  to  be  known,  was  given  him  at  his  appearance  in  that 
character  in  a  ballet  called  "Night."  In  the  reign  of  this 
monarch  we  find  the  general  public  were  allowed  to  witness 
these  spectacles,  which  hitherto  had  been  produced  solely  for 
the  court.  The  opera  now  superseded  the  masque,  while  the 
ballet  became  more  and  more  identified  with  it,  often  introduced 
arbitrarily,  without  connection  with  the  structure  of  the  play. 

In  1661  the  Royal  Academy  of  Dancing  was  founded  and  we 
find  professional  dancers  gradually  taking  possession  of  the  bal- 
let, though  for  many  years  Louis  XIV  continued  to  appear, 
dancing  sometimes  with  the  professional  dancers.  Usually  he 
impersonated  gods  and  heroes  but  occasionally  essayed  a  comic 
character.  And,  while  princes  were  the  performers,  the  com- 
posers and  inventors  were  also  the  greatest  of  their  age ;  Moliere 
and  Corneille  being  included  among  them. 

In  the  courts  of  Italy  and  Spain  these  ballets  were  equally 
popular  and  magnificent  and  it  was  at  this  period  that  the 
Czar  Fiedolwitz  Romanoff  of  Russia,  wishing  to  introduce  into 
his  court  some  of  the  culture  of  the  Renaissance,  sent  to  Italy 
for  sixty  artists,  expecting  to  receive  painters.  When  they  ar- 
rived, he  discovered  that  half  of  them  were  dancers.  But  he 
was  broadminded  enough  to  believe  that  art  might  declare  itself 
in  more  manifestations  than  one,  and  bade  them  show  what  they 
could  do.    He  established  the  Imperial  baUet  and  school  of 

[105] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

dancing,  which  from  that  time  kept  alive  in  Russia  the  true 
spirit  of  the  art  of  the  ballet. 

In  the  eighteenth  century  we  find  one  Noverre,  ballet  master 
of  the  courts  of  France,  Stuttgart  and  St.  Petersburgh,  who  re- 
vived the  art  of  pantomime  and  allied  it  to  the  dance.  Hitherto 
the  action  had  been  interpolated  between  dances,  but  now  we 
find  the  two  blended  and  the  ballet  takes  on  a  new  life.  He 
flung  aside  the  outworn  conventions  and  looked  to  nature  for 
his  inspiration.  "A  ballet,"  he  said,  "is  a  picture,  or  rather  a 
series  of  pictures,  connected  by  the  action  which  forms  the  sub- 
ject of  the  ballet.  A  picture  is  an  imitation  of  nature;  but  a 
good  ballet  is  nature  itself,  ennobled  by  all  the  charms  of  art." 
He  reformed  the  costuming  of  the  ballets,  which  until  then  had 
been  entirely  conventional.  The  ballet  of  the  Horatii  had 
formerly  been  costumed  in  hooped  skirts  and  padded  coats  of 
cloth  of  silver  or  gold,  with  the  hair  in  powdered  rolls.  In  this 
reform  he  had  immediate  successors.  Gardel  and  the  Vestris 
family  succeeded  also  in  substituting  for  the  old  display  of  sup- 
pleness and  dexterity  a  real  portrayal  of  character  and  emo- 
tion. Under  their  guidance  appeared  many  dancers,  men  as 
well  as  women,  whose  names  survive  to  this  day,  while  their 
supremacy  as  artists  was  acknowledged  by  the  greatest  minds 
of  their  own  time. 

After  the  French  Revolution  dancing  as  an  art  seems  to  have 

[106] 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  BALLET 

declined,  though  we  find  individual  names  of  great  artists  scat- 
tered through  the  first  half  of  the  nineteenth  century,  such  as 
Augusta  Vestris,  a  descendant  of  the  famous  family  of  that 
name,  Grisi,  Cerito,  Fanny  Elssler  and  Taglioni.  On  the  en- 
thusiasm evoked  in  England  by  this  last-named  dancer,  we 
find  an  amusing  comment  in  the  letter  of  Jane  Welsh  Carlyle : 
**I  saw  a  very  curious  sight  the  other  night,"  she  writes,  "the 
only  one  I  have  been  to  for  a  long  while,  viz.,  some  thousands 
of  the  grandest  and  most  cultivated  people  in  England  all  gaz- 
ing in  ecstasy,  and  applauding  to  death,  over  a  woman,  not  even 
pretty,  balancing  herself  on  the  extreme  point  of  one  great  toe, 
and  stretching  the  other  foot  high  into  the  air, — ^much  higher 
than  decency  ever  dreamt  of.  It  was  Taglioni,  our  chief  dancer 
at  the  opera ;  and  this  is  her  chief  feat,  repeated  over  and  over 
to  weariness, — at  least  to  my  weariness.  But  the  Duchesses 
were  flinging  bouquets  at  her  feet;  and  not  a  man  (except 
Carlyle)  who  did  not  seem  to  feel  disposed  to  fling  himself.  I 
counted  twenty-five  bouquets!  But  what  of  that?  The  Em- 
press of  all  the  Russias  once,  in  a  fit  of  enthusiasm,  flung  her 
diamond  bracelet  at  the  feet  of  this  same  Taglioni.  *Virtue  is 
its  own  reward'  (in  this  world)  ?  Dancing  is  and  singing  and 
some  other  things  still  more  frivolous;  but  for  Virtue?  it  may 
be  strongly  doubted  (as  Edinburgh  people  say  to  everything 
one  tells  them) ." 

[109] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

It  was  such  absence  of  ability  to  appreciate  the  appeal  to 
beauty  that  brought  about  the  downfall  of  dancing  and  the 
general  decline  of  art  in  England  through  the  mid- Victorian 
period.  Beauty  and  expression  being  languages  not  under- 
stood, the  promoters  of  dancing  supplied  the  public  with  ex- 
hibitions of  skill  and  suppleness  that  were  unmistakable  and  re- 
quired no  appreciation  of  that  Puritan  bugbear,  Beauty. 
Throughout  all  Europe  there  appears  to  have  been  a  corre- 
sponding decline  in  the  art  of  dancing.  Even  in  Russia,  where 
the  native  temperament  had  kept  the  art  alive,  notwithstanding 
the  conventionalities  imported  from  France  into  the  Imperial 
ballet  school,  the  vitahty  seems  to  have  languished.  In  other 
countries  it  lingered  under  the  guise  of  gorgeous  spectacle,  but 
even  in  these  dancing  played  an  ever  decreasing  part.  Ten 
years  ago  it  seemed  hardly  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  the 
ballet  was  dead. 

But  that  was  not  the  case.  It  had  been  allowed  to  get  out 
of  touch  with  the  spirit  of  the  times  and  therefore  ceased  either 
to  inspire  or  to  be  inspired  by  modern  thought.  It  was  the 
old  story  of  trying  to  live  by  a  wornout  tradition.  Because 
the  ballet  had  flourished  in  the  eighteenth  century  and  had  then, 
like  painting,  concerned  itself  with  courtly  pastorals,  satin  clad 
nymphs  and  brocaded  shepherds,  the  ballet  sought  to  keep  its 
vitality  by  preserving  these  threadbare  vanities. 

[110] 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  BALLET 

It  was  the  pitiful  attempt  of  the  aged  belle  to  keep  her  court 
around  her  by  continuing  to  wear  the  finery  of  her  youth,  which 
in  reality  only  shows  up  mercilessly  the  incompatibility  of  the 
faded  cheeks  and  the  frivolity  of  array.  'No  wonder  that  the 
people  of  the  nineteenth  century,  enamoured  of  the  vital  facts 
of  life,  had  scant  respect  for  these  ballets.  They  were  become 
but  pale  abstractions;  their  anemic  stories,  mere  skeletons  on 
which  to  hang  the  trickery  of  agile  posturings  and  sophisticated 
allurements. 


[Ill] 


CHAPTER  VII 

CLASSICAL  BALLET 

IN  developing  its  wonderful  pantomime-ballets,  the  reincar- 
nation of  the  old  "ballet  d'action,"  the  Russian  School  of 
Choregraphy  has  not  entirely  neglected  that  essentially 
choregraphic  form  of  the  ballet  which  either  tells  no  story  or  in- 
terprets a  theme  in  the  purely  conventional  language  of  the 
dance.  In  this  "Classical"  ballet  free  use  is  made  of  all  the 
recognised  technicalities  of  ballet  dancing, — ^the  pirouettes,  the 
toe-dancing,  the  entrechats,  or  any  other  formality  of  the  danc- 
ing school. 

In  form  it  does  not  differ  from  the  old  Italian  style ;  but  its 
use  is  kept  entirely  for  such  dances  as  do  not  call  for  the  real- 
istic setting  of  the  dance-drama;  such,  for  example,  as  the 
famous  "Coppelia"  or  the  modern  romantic  dream,  "Les 
Sylphides,"  or  the  fairy  fantasy  of  the  "Lac  des  Cygnes."  In 
nearly  all  of  them  the  women  wear  the  conventional  ballet 
dress,  short,  full-skirted,  with  silk  fleshings  and  satin  shoes, 
while  the  dress  of  the  men  is  usually  formal.  But  in  spite  of 
this  conventionality  the  spiritual  quality  of  the  dances  is  not 
lost.     That  is  to  say,  these  Russian  artists  are  more  intent  on 

[112] 


Plioto.  by  White,  N.  Y. 
LYDIA  LOPOUKOWA  AND  ALEXANDER  VOLININE  IN  THE  BALLET 
"LES  SYLPHIDES."  RUSSIAN  DANCERS 


CLASSICAL   BALLET 

interpreting  the  meaning  and  spirit  of  their  theme  than  in 
portraying  the  obvious  shell  of  fact.  And  one  of  the  causes 
of  the  abstract  quality  of  these  dancers  is  their  absolute  aloof- 
ness. Never  do  they  seem  to  be  dancing  to  the  audience. 
The  dancers  remain  behind  the  frame  of  the  proscenium  with- 
out betraying  any  consciousness  of  the  world  without.  Those 
who  can  remember  the  satisfied  simper  of  the  old-time  Italian 
ballerina  will  know  how  impossible  it  was  to  associate  her  with 
any  world  other  than  that  of  footlights  and  canvas  scenery. 
She  was  no  creature  of  the  woods,  expressing  her  own  joy  in 
nature,  but  a  sophisticated  woman  of  the  world,  calling  our 
attention  to  the  number  of  times  that  she  could  cross  her  feet 
during  one  bound  in  the  air. 

It  was  La  Carmago,  a  dancer  of  the  eighteenth  century,  who 
invented  this  particular  exercise  and  whose  love  of  conquering 
difficulties  made  the  number  of  "entrechats"  that  she  could  cut 
an  object  of  much  importance.  But  even  in  that  age  of  arti- 
ficialities such  tricks  did  not  appeal  to  the  more  artistic  of  the 
audience.  "I  have  even  seen,"  says  Baron,  one  of  the  writers 
of  that  period,  "a  dancer  cross  sixteen  times,  but  do  not  suppose 
that  I  admire  such  gymnastics,  or  your  pirouettes  either." 

Such  conscious  exhibitions  of  skill  are  necessarily  destructive 
of  art  and  it  was  this  that  destroyed  ballet-dancing  in  Italy 
and  France  after  its  period  of  greatness  during  the  seven- 

[115] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

teenth  and  eighteenth  centuries.  Technique  without  the 
counterbalance  of  artistic  comprehension  has  temporarily  over- 
whelmed other  arts  at  other  times,  and  it  needs  strong  person- 
ality and  definite  consciousness  of  the  artistic  significance  of 
the  medium  to  keep  technique  where  it  belongs.  This  has 
been  the  great  work  of  the  directors  of  the  Russian  school  of 
ballet. 

By  the  time  their  novices  are  allowed  to  make  their  debut 
their  technical  ability  is  supposed  to  be  an  assured  thing,  so 
that  the  director  does  not  concern  himself  with  it  but  concen- 
trates all  his  attention  on  the  expression.  It  is  characteristic 
of  their  pupils,  that  they  seem  to  be  creatures  not  ruled  by  the 
physical  laws  which  govern  ordinary  men  and  women.  They 
perform  marvels  of  graceful  agility;  but  with  so  little  appar- 
ent effort  that  they  seem  less  concerned  with  the  execution 
of  them  than  in  expressing  the  music  of  which  they  are  the 
embodiment.  And  this,  of  course,  means  perfect  technique,  a 
training  that  has  made  their  art  a  second  nature,  a  medium 
that  they  can  command  with  as  little  conscious  effort  as  is 
used  in  walking  across  the  room. 

Years  of  training  are  needed  to  accomplish  it.  Begun  in 
childhood,  it  lasts  for  ten  years  at  least.  But  when  it  is  fin- 
ished, it  leaves  the  dancer  equipped  with  such  flexibility  of 
technique  that  its  control  is  a  matter  to  which  his  attention  need 

[116] 


CLASSICAL   BALLET 

never  be  drawn.  His  or  her  whole  soul  can  be  given  to  artistic 
expression,  even  while  feats  of  extraordinary  difficulty  are  be- 
ing performed.  Consequently  we  do  not  find  ourselves  con- 
cerned with  the  agility  but  with  the  expressiveness  of  the 
motion.  A  pirouette  may  be  executed  to  a  marvel,  but  what 
we  are  most  conscious  of  is  the  quintessence  of  languor  or  of 
coquetry,  or  rapturous  abandonment,  or  the  numberless  other 
phases  of  sentiment,  it  can  be  made  to  express  with  a  subtle 
force  more  vital  than  words. 

Accordingly  the  technical  pirouettes  and  toe-dancing  be- 
come not  an  end  in  themselves  but  a  means  to  an  end,  and  only 
hint  with  a  refinement  and  exquisiteness  of  suggestion  at  what 
more  naturalistic  action  would  express  more  obviously.  When 
these  conventional  motions  are  performed  with  the  daintiness 
and  grace  of  a  Katrina  Geltzer,  we  succumb  to  their  expres- 
sion of  supreme  beauty  and  recognise  the  intellectualised  qual- 
ity of  their  esthetic  charm.  And  in  these  purely  imaginative 
ballets-operas,  such  as  **The  Lac  des  Cygnes,"  the  traditional 
ballet-movements  are  perfectly  in  accord  with  the  symbolism 
by  which  the  story  is  set  forth.  As  Theodore  Banville  says, 
"Every  step  is  equivalent  to  an  image  in  a  poem."  For  here 
we  are  in  the  realm  of  fairy-tale,  though  the  story  has  been 
invested  with  human  pathos.  The  recital  of  facts  in  this  ballet 
always  takes  second  place  to  the  dance-movements,  which  are 

[117] 


DANCING  AND  DANCERS  OF  TODAY 

among  the  most  significant  of  those  shown  by  the  Russian 
artists. 

Tschaikowsky  has  invested  this  ballet  with  the  fire  and  poetry 
of  his  music,  which  ever  breathes  a  vague  melancholy  that  pen- 
etrates even  the  gayest  moment. 

Three  of  the  greatest  of  the  directors  of  the  Russian  ballet 
worked  to  perfect  the  representation  of  "Le  Lac  des  Cygnes," 
one  of  them  being  Mikail  Mordkin,  who  made  his  debut  in  it 
in  Russia. 

Enchanted  lakes,  full  of  mystery  and  melancholy,  meta- 
morphosed maidens,  gloomy  forests,  the  brave,  but  ill-fated 
prince^^these  and  other  features  of  the  story  are  familiar  to 
folk  lore  of  all  the  world,  but  are  spiritualised  in  this  instance 
by  the  poetic  wizardry  of  art. 

At  first  we  see  the  young  prince  gaily  disporting  himself  in 
the  company  of  his  followers.  These  are  his  last  days  as  a 
bachelor.  Tomorrow  he  must  choose  a  bride.  He  calls  in 
his  retainers  and  surrounds  himself  with  the  peasantry,  while 
mirth  and  gay  dances  pass  the  hours  away.  The  evening 
shades  draw  in,  but  the  joyous  spirits  are  still  ready  for  more 
activity.  With  lighted  torches  the  whole  party  of  men  bound 
oif  to  a  midnight  hunt,  vying  with  each  other  in  feats  of  skill 
and  daring,  full  of  lusty  and  joyous  life. 

Then  we  are  transported  to  the  mysterious  shores  of  the 

[118] 


MLLE.  KATARINA  GFXTZER  OF  THE  RUSSIAN  IMPERIAL  BALLET 


CLASSICAL   BALLET 

enchanted  lake.  It  lies  deep  in  a  forest  of  grey-green  trees. 
The  moonlight  faintly  pierces  their  foliage  and  presently 
white,  softly-massed  forms  gradually  stir  into  life,  as  the  swan- 
maidens  wake  and  glide  from  group  to  group,  shaking  out 
their  fluffy  garments  like  the  arched  wings  of  the  swan  and 
curving  their  arms,  as  slim  and  white  as  its  neck.  It  is  mar- 
vellous, the  suggestion  that  is  given  of  swans,  especially  when 
the  forms  are  massed  into  fluttering  groups.  There  is  no 
actual  imitation,  no  false  wings,  but  just  the  smooth  gliding 
motions,  the  curves  of  wrist  and  fingers,  the  undulating  forms ; 
the  imagination  is  stimulated  to  fill  out  the  rest. 

Into  this  scene  of  enchantment  burst  the  young  prince  and 
his  companions,  still  boisterous  in  their  gaiety.  But  they  are 
transfixed  to  behold  not  the  swans  they  pursue  as  quarry  but 
beautiful  maidens,  who  shrink  from  their  turbulent  approach. 
It  is  now  the  huntsmen's  turn  to  be  abashed.  For  these  radiant 
beings  seem  to  reproach  the  young  men's  temerity  in  venturing 
to  disturb  them.  His  companions  would  persuade  the  prince 
to  withdraw;  but  the  beauty  and  charm  of  the  chief  of  these 
lovely  maidens  has  entirely  be\\dtched  him  and  he  remains  with 
her.  She  tells  him  her  sad  lot,  which  grants  to  her  only  the 
hours  of  darkness  in  her  own  form,  and  turns  her  during  the 
day  into  a  swan.  She  is  in  the  power  of  a  wicked  enchanter, 
and  nothing  can  break  the  spell  but  the  absolute  fidelity  of  the 

[121] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

first  love  of  a  brave  knight.  This  the  prince  pledges  her.  She 
shall  come  to  his  castle  on  the  morrow  and  before  his  mother 
and  all  the  assembled  company  he  will  declare  her  his  bride. 
She  sees  her  deliverance  at  hand.  Alternately  she  hopes  and 
fears,  abandons  herself  to  the  caresses  of  her  lover  or  shrinks 
in  dread  of  some  cruel  fate  that  may  intervene. 

It  is  in  a  scene  hke  this  that  one  feels  that  the  conventional- 
ised ballet,  with  its  super-refinement  of  gestures  and  motion — 
quite  imreal  as  natural  expression — can  sometimes  suggest 
the  glamour  and  unsubstantiality  of  fairy-lore  in  a  manner 
that  no  other  art  can  do.  True,  these  are  not  real  people,  but 
they  are  creatures  of  that  same  imagination  which  has  peopled 
the  folk-lore  of  all  ages  with  giants,  fairies,  witches,  enchanted 
maidens  and  princes.  It  is  not  what  children  call  "really 
true,"  but  it  responds  to  an  instinctive  desire,  which  is  uni- 
versal, for  the  combination  of  the  natural  and  the  imaginary. 
So  the  enchanted  maiden,  turning  slowly  in  a  pirouette,  ex- 
quisitely expressive  of  reluctant  yet  complete  surrender,  drops 
finally  into  the  arms  of  the  prince,  while  we  are  conquered  by 
the  same  glamour  which  enthralled  us  when  we  first  heard  such 
tales  in  our  childhood. 

But  these  young  lovers  are  not  destined  to  "live  happy  ever 
after."  The  magician  who  has  the  maiden  in  his  power  will 
not  permit  her  to  appear  at  the  castle,  save  in  the  shape  of  the 

[122] 


CLASSICAL   BALLET 

swan,  and  cunningly  substitutes  for  her  at  the  ball  his  own 
wicked  daughter.  This  part  in  the  ballet  is  danced  by  the 
same  dancer  who  appears  as  the  ill-fated  swan-maiden  and  a 
subtle  sinisterness  in  every  motion  and  expression  ■  is  the  only 
clue  we  get  of  the  difference  between  the  two.  For  she,  too, 
must  be  captivating;  only  for  charm  she  must  substitute  allure, 
for  maidenly  reticence  a  conscious  coquetry.  As  she  weaves 
her  spells  around  the  prince,  the  music  tells  us  of  the  poor 
swan  circling  round  the  castle  in  the  dark  outside.  And,  while 
he  plights  his  troth  to  the  false-hearted  enchantress,  the  flut- 
tering of  the  white  wings  and  the  piteous  cry  from  out  in  the 
night  reveal  to  him  that  he  has  been  tricked.  He  has  been 
false  to  his  first  vo\^  and  the  swan  will  never  regain  her  maiden 
form.  Broken-hearted  she  returns  to  the  lake  and  the  prince 
follows  in  remorseful  haste.  There  is,  however,  no  hope  for 
them  but  to  join  their  fates  in  death.  So,  in  the  lake  beside 
which  they  first  met  and  loved,  the  unhappy  lovers  are  united 
for  ever. 

Such  is  the  story,  unreal  yet  full  of  reality,  and  such  is  its 
setting  forth.  Removed  from  naturalism,  but  full  of  the  ar- 
tistic significance  which  translates  and  illuminates  it  into  a  lan- 
guage perfectly  understandable  by  Slav  or  Saxon,  Greek  or 
Gaul. 

But,  even  this  slender  thread  of  narrative  is  not  necessary. 

[125] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

As  the  melody  in  music,  so  the  story  in  the  dance  may  be  sim- 
ply a  suggestion,  appearing  and  disappearing  and  haunting 
the  background  of  harmonious  rhythm,  now  seemingly  lost 
entirely,  now  hinted  in  an  underlying  harmony.  It  is  not  a 
definite  wrought-out  form  but  a  subtle  thread  of  idea,  vaguely 
felt  rather  than  obviously  detailed.  And  as  the  melody  is 
not  one  you  can  whistle,  so  the  story  is  not  one  that  you  can 
tell. 

The  ballet,  "Les  Sylphides,"  represents  the  highest  achieve- 
ment in  this  purely  abstract  form  of  dance.  Simply  a  phan- 
tasy of  abstract  beauty,  called  in  the  programme  "Romantic 
Reverie,"  around  which  one  could  weave  one's  own  dreams  of 
poetry.  The  scene  was  as  formal  and  unrealistic  as  the  dance; 
a  grove  of  clipped  yews;  grey-green  in  the  faint  light,  with  a 
suggestion  of  grey  ruins  of  architecture;  the  light  somewhat 
subdued  most  of  the  time,  though  shining  lustily  in  some  of  the 
more  bravura  dances.  The  dancers  are  in  the  formal  ballet 
costume,  not  flitting  in  naturalistic  freedom,  but  dancing  in 
formulated  steps  over  the  green  of  the  ground.  They  lend 
themselves,  however,  in  a  wonderful  manner  by  their  sheer  im- 
personality to  "reverie."  They  are  not  human  beings  nor 
fauns  nor  dryads,  but  emanations  of  the  moonbeams  and  the 
ancient  trees  and  ruins  of  the  spot.  If  you  will,  they  are  but 
the  spirits  of  the  forces  of  the  elements  which  have  floated 

[126] 


CLASSICAL   BALLET 

around  that  spot  for  centuries  and  now,  taking  form,  sport  in 
bodily  presence  so  that  for  once  mortals  may  look  on  those  un- 
der whose  sway  they  dwell. 

They  hover  now  in  groups,  forming  and  reforming  in  massed 
loveliness;  so  light  and  airy  that  they  seem  to  be  borne  on  the 
breeze  around  the  solid,  gnarled  stems  of  the  trees.  Now  they 
cluster  on  the  ground;  now  disperse  in  wisps  of  misty  white- 
ness, as  though  a  breath  of  wind  had  blown  on  them.  Nothing 
more  airy  and  unreal  could  be  imagined  to  have  life  and  form. 

As  they  flitted  in  the  half  light,  they  somehow  called  to 
mind  that  strange,  unreal  exotic,  the  night-blooming  cereus. 
Its  white,  waxen  flowers  bloom  once  in  ten  years  and  then  but 
for  a  single  night,  as  though  their  purity  and  elegance  were  too 
exquisite  for  the  work-a-day  world,  but  belonged  to  the  world 
of  spirits  and  fairy  folk  who  may  assume  mortal  shape  only 
during  the  hours  of  darkness.  Even  the  shape  of  the  blossom, 
almost  luminous  in  its  whiteness,  is  not  unlike  the  buoyant 
skirt  of  the  dancer,  while  the  formahty  of  the  shrub  on  which 
it  blooms  might  suggest  the  setting  of  this  romantic  dream. 
One  would  hardly  wish  for  detailed  descriptions  of  these  dances 
any  more  than  one  would  wish  to  pick  and  wear  the  blossom. 
They  are  all  phantasies  that  reveal  themselves  for  a  httle 
while  and  then  are  gone,  leaving  a  vague  sense  of  yearning  and 
the  memory  of  a  lovely  dream. 

[127] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ADELINE  GENf  E 

THE  first  years  of  the  present  century  showed  little 
promise  of  the  brilliance  of  the  present  renaissance 
of  the  Art  of  the  Dance.  Those  graceful  waltzers, 
Kate  Vaughan,  Letty  Lind,  and  Sylvia  Grey  had  left  no  suc- 
cessors in  their  dainty  bon-bonniere  art.  The  skirt  and  ser- 
pentine dances  became  less  and  less  a  matter  of  dancing  and 
more  and  more  one  of  clever  manipulation  of  mechanical  con- 
trivances. Not  that  the  artistic  possibilities  of  the  combination 
of  these  floating  fabrics  and  coloured  lights  has  yet  been  fully 
utilised.  But  the  thing  lacking  was  the  actual  dance  spirit 
that  would  use  the  contrivances  only  as  a  means  of  additional 
expression.  So,  too,  with  the  wonderful  flying  ballets.  Since 
they  required  of  the  performers  little  save  ability  to  maintain 
a  graceful  pose,  as  they  were  moved  through  the  air  by  means 
of  ingenious  mechanism  of  vrires,  they  can  hardly  be  considered 
as  dances  of  expression. 

More  expressive,  but  even  less  commendable,  were  the  whirls 
of  high  kicks  and  limb-contorting  stunts  that  did  duty  for  danc- 
ing in  most  of  the  stage  ballets  of  the  period.    Like  all  ex- 

[128] 


Photo,  by  Otto  Sarony,  N.  Y. 


ADELINE  GENEE  IN  THE  SILVER  STAR 


ADELINE    GENIEE 

positions  of  skill  this  form  of  dance  easily  degenerated  into  a 
mere  personal  matter  of  agility  and  ingenuity.  The  appeal  of 
the  performer  was,  "Look  at  me,  I  can  kick  higher  and  faster 
than  anyone  you  ever  saw  before ;"  the  dancer  looked  out  to  the 
audience  to  make  sure  that  they  were  looking  at  her.  The 
atmosphere,  thus  created,  is  deadly  to  dignity  and  false  to  art. 
It  is  permeated  with  the  essence  of  sophistication  and  reeks 
of  the  limelight  and  rouge-pot  and  all  other  disillusionment  that 
art  should  make  us  forget. 

Into  this  artificial  patchouli-scented  atmosphere  there  floated 
one  day  a  bright  sunbeam,  wafting  with  it  an  air  sweet  and 
fresh  and  cool  as  the  dawn  on  a  dewy  meadow.  It  was  as 
though  a  window  had  been  opened  in  an  overheated  conservatory, 
and  in  the  refreshing  breath  of  the  pure  morning  air  the  poor 
withering  plants  lifted  up  their  heads  and  bloomed  once  more. 

It  was  Mademoiselle  Adeline  Genee  who,  through  the  fra- 
grance of  her  presence,  first  in  England,  then  in  America,  as- 
sured us  that  the  ballet  was  not,  after  all,  a  dead  thing,  that 
the  conventional  technique  under  the  control  of  an  artist  might 
still  be  made  to  yield  sincere  and  vital  expression. 

A  Dane  by  nationality,  born  in  Jutland,  this  little  lady  made 
her  first  appearance  in  Copenhagen  as  a  child-prodigy  at  the 
age  of  nine.  Continuing  her  studies  under  her  uncle,  a  famous 
ballet  master,  and  his  wife,  a  Hungarian  dancer,  Mile.  Genee 

[131] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

appeared  again  with  ripened  talent  at  the  Royal  Opera  House 
of  Copenhagen  and  at  those  also  of  Munich  and  Berlin.  Then 
she  went  to  London  and  for  thirteen  years  was  identified  with 
the  Empire  Music  Hall. 

There,  as  when  she  later  appeared  here,  the  environment  in 
which  she  found  herself  was  not  on  the  plane  of  the  Royal  Opera 
Houses,  hitherto  the  scenes  of  her  triumphs.  Her  audiences 
were,  as  a  rule,  not  looking  for  art,  but  for  amusement,  and 
had  not  even  learned  to  expect  art  from  a  dancer.  Undis- 
mayed, she  set  herself,  therefore,  to  restore  the  Cinderella  of 
the  Muses  to  her  rightful  sphere. 

And  for  this  she  was  royally  equipped.  She  had,  to  begin 
with,  a  technique  which  was  flawless.  The  most  difficult  exer- 
cise she  performs  with  the  insouciance  of  a  frolicking  child. 
Added  to  this  is  the  charm  of  purity  and  fragrance  which  one 
associates  with  childhood,  combined  with  that  artistic  sincerity 
which  makes  her  appeal  impersonal  and  abstract. 

It  was  the  appreciation  of  this  lovely  child-spirit  in  her  that 
caused  Arthur  Symonds,  that  poet-critic  of  English  drama,  to 
send  to  Mile.  Genee  a  basket  of  penny  china  toys,  and  with 
them  some  nonsense  verses  entitled  "Homage  of  the  Penny 
Dolls  to  the  Illustrious  Lady  Adeline  G^nee."  They  read  as 
follows: 


[132] 


ADELINE   GENEE 

"We  are  penny  Dolls;  we  bring 
To  fair  Genee  welcoming. 
Venice  made  us  of  her  earth. 
We  are  but  of  humble  birth. 
We  can  crow  and  grunt  and  sing 
For  fair  Genee's  welcoming." 

It  is  true  that  there  is  nothing  profound  in  her  art;  but  do 
we  chide  the  little  brook,  brawling  over  its  rocks  and  murmur- 
ing amid  its  mosses,  because  it  is  not  the  ocean?  Are  there  not 
infinite  delight  and  variety  in  its  windings  and  hurryings  and 
cool  still  pools  and  splashing  little  waterfalls?  So,  in  the  ex- 
quisite miniatures  which  Mile.  Genee  discloses  there  is  a  charm 
none  the  less  genuine  because  its  range  is  not  boundless  nor 
its  depth  overwhelming. 

With  these  resources,  in  spite  of  the  handicap  of  unworthy 
surroundings,  Mile.  Genee  came  and  conquered.  Soon  the 
public  was  asking:  "Is  it  necessary  that  the  dancer's  art  shall 
be  displayed  amidst  vulgarities  and  inanities?  Does  it  not  be- 
long to  the  realm  of  beauty?"  The  little  lady  by  her  own  sin- 
cerity and  fragrant  sweetness  had  made  some  of  her  public 
think.  She  achieved  this  marvel  by  being  true  to  her  art  and 
her  own  ideal,  continuing  to  give  of  her  best  and  not  stooping  to 
a  lower  standard.  So,  though  her  art  is  of  the  most  joyous, 
dainty,  gossamer  texture,  it  proved  to  have  in  it  some  of  the 

[133] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF    TODAY 

gallant  spirit  of  the  Fairy  Prince,  who  could  right  the  wrongs 
of  the  neglected  Cinderella  of  the  arts. 

But  the  conditions  of  her  appearance,  especially  in  New 
York,  were  a  rather  significant  commentary  on  the  ways  of  our 
purveyors  of  public  entertainment.  For  here  was  a  public 
which,  as  subsequent  events  proved,  possessed  a  latent  taste  for 
the  artistic  rendering  of  the  dance,  and  here  also  an  artist  most 
capable  of  giving  it  to  them.  But  the  purveyors,  by  trying  ta 
attract  a  public  which  had  neither  taste  nor  discernment,  suc- 
ceeded in  repelling  some  of  those  who  were  most  ready  to  greet 
the  dancer  with  real  appreciation. 

But  the  banalities  and  vulgarities  of  her  surroundings  never 
touched  Mile.  Genee's  art.  Above  it  all,  she  shone,  clear  and 
bright,  no  more  contaminated  than  is  the  moon  by  the  gutter 
which  its  silver  beams  illumine. 

Her  dancing  is  a  revival  of  the  classical  style,  and  again  and 
again  we  are  reminded  as  we  watch  her  of  the  old  prints  of 
Taglioni.  The  very  style  of  her  dress,  worn  usually  a  little 
longer  than  the  modern  French  ballet  skirt,  gives  her  something 
of  the  elegance  and  demureness  of  the  Victorian  period.  Her 
technique  is  of  the  French  School,  accomplishing  with  perfect, 
grace  and  precision  all  the  conventionalities  of  toe-dancing, 
pirouetting,  balancing  and  the  rest.  But  through  all  runs  a 
sprightly  elfishness  and  gaiety  which  infuses  life  and  originality^ 

[134] 


Photo,  by  Otto  Sarony,  N.  Y. 


ADELINE  GENEE  IN  HER  HUNTING  DANCE 


ADELINE   GENEE 

into  everything  she  does.  The  purity  and  innocence  of  her 
face,  with  its  soft  cluster  of  yellow  hair  pushed  back  to  each 
side  of  the  rather  high  forehead,  and  the  candid,  friendly  eyes, 
the  lithe,  straight  limbs,  the  arching  smile  of  her  mouth  all  help 
in  the  impression  of  fresh  and  happy  sanity. 

Of  all  her  dances  the  one  most  characteristically  her  own  is 
the  Hunting  Dance.  Clad  in  full  riding  paraphernalia,  habit, 
hat,  boots,  high  stock  and  hunting  crop,  she  bounds  down  an 
incline  with  a  beautiful  forward  leap  of  the  body  that  is  full  of 
suggestion  of  the  buoyant  hurrying  onward  motion  of  the  eager 
horseman.  For  her  hunt  is  the  fox  hunt,  not  the  pursuit  of 
game.  And  how  certainly  one  feels  the  action  of  a  spirited 
highly-bred  horse — the  trot,  the  gallop,  the  canter!  All  are 
suggested  rather  than  mimicked,  and  there,  too,  is  the  rider 
seated  on  a  side  saddle,  swaying  lightly  to  the  rise  and  fall  of 
her  mount.  There  is  something  in  the  restive  patter  of  the 
feet,  something  in  the  toss  of  the  neat  little  head,  and  the  light 
but  firm  poise  of  the  hands  which  tells  you  all  that  is  necessary 
to  start  the  imagination  picturing  horse  and  rider  both.  It 
does  not  need  the  dogs,  handsome  though  they  be  in  their 
spotting  of  colour,  to  give  you  the  whole  **field"  on  a  bright 
morning  at  the  beginning  of  a  good  run.  And  at  the  close  of 
the  dance,  when  she  stands  whip  uplifted  and  the  smile  of 
triumph  lighting  her  piquant  face,  one  shares  the  exhilaration 

[137] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

that  has  ever  made  the  hunt  a  bond,  knitting  together  all  lovers 
of  the  horse,  be  they  high  or  low,  since  woods  gave  place  to  open 
country. 

Nor  is  her  gaiety  at  all  lacking  in  dignity.  In  the  Empire 
Dance,  the  dainty  poise  of  her  head,  the  firm  supple  straight- 
ness  of  figure,  the  arch  of  the  wrist  all  confirm  a  suggestion  of 
gracious  courtliness,  as  of  one  who  has  dropped  the  reserve  of 
formality,  yet  clings  to  certain  inherent  stateliness  of  breeding, 
even  in  her  gaiety. 

Mile.  Genee  was  seen  in  one  drama-dance  during  her  visit 
to  this  country.  It  was  more  in  the  nature  of  a  French  "ballet 
d'action"  than  that  of  the  naturalistic  dramas  depicted  by  the 
Russians.  Its  theme  is  a  repetition  of  the  often-told  story  of  a 
dryad,  loving  a  mortal  who  swears  to  be  true  to  her  and  her 
alone.  The  tryst  at  which  his  love  is  to  be  proved  is  forgotten 
by  him  and  he  comes  to  the  spot  accompanied  by  a  new  love. 
The  dryad  returns  to  imprisonment  in  her  tree,  while  the  faith- 
less swain  remains  ignorant  of  her  fate.  The  poignancy  of  this 
rendering  of  the  story  lies  in  the  innocent  soullessness  of  it  and 
in  a  wistful  longing  for  the  deeper  things  of  life.  The  actual 
note  of  anguish  is  hardly  touched;  but  there  is  pathos  in  the 
appealing  figure,  light  and  fragile  as  a  snowflake,  which  melts 
at  contact  with  the  rough  human  world.  The  spectacle  of  out- 
stretched arms  and  slowly  retreating  figure,  posed  with  hardly 

[138] 


AD>i.INE   GENEE 

a  touch  of  the  toe  on  the  ground,  is  exquisitely  ethereal  and 
lovely. 

Indeed  it  has  well  been  said  of  G-enee  that  she  merits  the 
words  of  Paul  St.  Victor,  written  of  another  dancer:  "Her 
movements  might  inspire  a  designer  of  fine  and  dainty  orna- 
ment. All  she  does  is  exquisite,  minute  and  delicate  as  lace- 
work." 

Her  latest  appearance  has  been  at  the  London  Coliseum  in 
a  ballet  which  has  not  yet  been  seen  in  America.  It  is  a  dance- 
drama  entitled  "La  Camargo,"  being  based  on  an  episode  in 
the  career  of  that  famous  queen  of  the  ballet,  who  captivated 
the  vagrant  heart  of  the  fifteenth  Louis,  was  extolled  in  verse 
by  Voltaire  and  painted  by  Lancret,  Established  in  one  of 
the  apartments  of  Versailles,  she  is  discovered  trying  on  a  new 
dancing  costume.  A  bouquet  is  handed  to  her,  accompanied 
with  a  note,  couched  in  terms  of  insolent  gallantry.  While  she 
is  smarting  from  the  affront,  an  old  friend  of  her  early  life 
enters  in  distress.  Her  son,  a  playmate  of  La  Camargo's  girl- 
hood, now  one  of  the  king's  guards,  has  been  arrested  for 
striking  his  officer;  death  is  the  penalty.  Will  La  Camargo 
intercede  for  him  with  the  king?  It  was  a  scandalous  remark 
affecting  her  reputation  which  had  angered  the  youth,  and  the 
traducer,  it  transpires,  was  no  other  than  the  writer  of  the  in- 
sulting   note.     La    Camargo    accepts    the    opportunity    of 

[139] 


DANCING  AND   DANC]&:}IS   OF   TODAY 

humbling  him.  The  king  enters,  she  dances  for  him,  and  in  the 
thrill  of  his  pleasure  claims  the  pardon  as  a  reward.  He  cannot 
condone  the  insubordination;  she  dances  again,  and  yet  again, 
putting  forth  all  her  skill  in  the  invention  '^f  fresh  steps  and 
combinations.  The  king,  though  fascinated,  remains  obdurate ; 
it  is  only  when  he  has  been  shown  the  note  that  he  grants  the 
pardon.  La  Camargo  is  revenged  and  the  youth  goes  free. 
But  the  sight  of  him  has  recalled  the  memories  of  her  youth,  and 
she  sighs  for  the  freedom  of  the  country  life  and  realises  that, 
notwithstanding  all  her  triumphs,  she  is  a  lonely,  loveless  pris- 
oner in  a  gilded  cage. 

No  theme  could  be  fitter  as  a  medium  for  the  display  of 
Genee's  particular  qualities.  Her  art  is  a  product  of  the  tra- 
dition which  La  Camargo  herself  did  so  much  to  establish; 
moreover  the  little  modern  artiste's  charm  consists  largely  in 
its  mingling  of  a  studied  precocity  of  style  with  a  spirit  so 
fragrantly  natural.  If,  then,  this  new  ballet,  as  a  production, 
is  somewhat  disappointing,  the  fault  is  scarcely  hers.  It  is  to 
be  attributed  rather  to  the  spirit  and  method  exhibited  by  the 
author,  producer  and  designer,  Mr.  C.  Wilhelm.  He  repre- 
sents the  Teutonic  spirit  and  method  as  contrasted  with  those 
of  the  modern  Russians,  and  it  is  for  this  reason  that  it  has 
seemed  worth  while  to  allude  to  this  particular  production. 

The  difference  can  be  summed  up  in  two  words,  the  Teutonic, 

[140] 


Photo,  by  Otto  Sarony,  N.  Y. 


ADELINE  GENEE  IN  HER  EMPIRE  DANCE 


ADELINE   G:6n:6e 

as  represented  here,  is  based  on  mimicry;  the  Russian,  on  in- 
terpretation. When,  for  example,  Genee  urges  the  king  to 
sign  the  pardon,  she  has  been  instructed  or  encouraged  to 
wriggle  her  wrist  in  the  air,  as  if  she  were  writing.  This  is 
but  a  sample  of  innumerable  httle  futile  mimicries  employed 
to  tell  the  story  to  the  audience,  who  thereby  are  treated  as  if 
they  had  but  little  intelligence  and  no  imagination.  Many  of 
us  are  disposed  to  hurl  back  the  affront  across  the  footlights 
and  assert  that  it  is  a  lack  of  intelligence  and  imagination 
which  characterises  the  production.  The  effect,  indeed,  upon 
the  student  and  lover  of  the  modern  dance-drama  was  one  of 
dissatisfaction,  as  with  something  uninspired  and  rather  com- 
monplace, and  this,  notwithstanding  the  charm  of  Genee,  whose 
art  seemed  robbed  of  much  of  its  freshness  and  originality  by 
contact  with  such  ill-considered  and  unimpressive  matter-of- 
factness. 

The  point  is  worth  enforcing,  for  there  seems  to  be  little 
doubt  that  the  dance-drama  is  destined  for  a  better  fate  than 
to  be  a  fad  which  will  shortly  be  superseded  by  some  other 
"latest  thing."  It  is  so  firmly  rooted  in  the  past  that  its  fu- 
ture is  assured,  and  is  so  much  a  product  of  human  instincts 
that  its  hold  upon  the  popular  imagination  will  increase.  Ac- 
cordingly, it  is  well  to  note  that  there  is  a  higher  and  a  lower 
form  of  the  art.     The  latter  is  illustrated  in  the  example  we 

[143] 


DANCING   ANL^-DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

have  been  considering,  whicn,  notwithstanding  its  elaboration 
and  refinements,  is  fundamentally  akin  to  primitive  dance- 
dramas  in  its  reliance  upon  the  mimetic  instinct:  the  rudi- 
mentary faculty  of  imitating  and  the  rudimentary  delight  of 
reorganising  imitation. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  higher  gift  is  the  faculty  of  inter- 
pretation, while  the  higher  capacity  of  appreciation  is  con- 
cerned chiefly  with  expression.  The  art  which  involves  these 
qualities  is  creative — ^it  is  born  of  and  appeals  to  the  imagina- 
tion. 

Now  it  is  in  this  direction  that  the  Russians  have  advanced 
the  dance-drama.  They  have  lifted  it  into  line  with  the  modern 
developments  in  the  sister  arts  of  painting,  sculpture,  music 
and  literature.  Even  when  their  dance-drama  is  most  natural- 
istic, it  is  more  than  that.  It  is  not  satisfied  only  to  represent 
certain  facts,  it  also  invests  them  with  suggestions  that  stimu- 
late the  imagination  to  abstract  enjoyment.  In  pursuit  of 
this  higher  purpose  the  Russians  have  evolved  a  new  language 
of  choregraphic  expression.  It  has  a  vocabulary,  idioms  and  a 
style  of  its  own,  properly  belonging  to  it,  because  derived 
from  the  genius  of  its  own  art  of  dancing.  It  does  not  ex- 
clude the  mimetic  element,  but  has  absorbed  it  into  the  more 
abstract  and  conventionalised  language  of  the  purely  dance 
form.    Meanwhile,  the  conventionalisation  through  the  infu- 

[144] 


ADELINE    GEN:fiE 

sion   of  the   mimetic   is   saved   from   being   merely   formal. 

The  language  has  thus  become  an  elastic  medium  of  ex- 
pression, a  living  language.  The  artist  who  has  learned  its 
vocabulary  and  idioms  can  use  it  as  a  musician  does  his  medium. 
He  can  play  upon  the  endless  permutations  which  the  vocab- 
ulary and  idioms  involve,  and  create  his  melodies  and  har- 
monies of  movement  in  response  to  the  creation  of  his  own 
imagination.  His  body  thus  becomes  an  instrument  of  living 
and  inexhaustibly  varied  expression.  He  depicts  the  theme  of 
the  dance,  but  with  a  wealth  of  beautiful  suggestion  that  raises 
one's  imagination  to  high  levels  of  abstract  enjoyment.  We 
revel  in  the  sheer  beauty  of  this  labyrinth  of  moving  harmonies 
and  rhythms,  controlled  by  and  interpreting  the  dancer's  intel- 
lectualised  conception  of  the  theme.  For  cultivated  intelli- 
gence and  taste,  as  well  as  perfection  of  bodily  technique,  are 
prerequisites  of  this  new  language  of  choregraphic  expression. 

By  the  time  that  we  have  fallen  under  the  spell  of  this  rich 
and  varied  art-form,  the  mainly  mimetic  form,  with  its  scanty 
fringe  of  conventionalised  steps  and  gestures,  seems  very 
threadbare  and  unsatisfying. 


[145] 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  RUSSIAN  DANCE-DRAMA 

THE  Russian  Imperial  School  of  Ballet,  since  its 
foundation  in  the  seventeenth  century,  has  been  sec- 
ond to  none  in  Europe.  In  spite  of  its  share  in  the 
general  decline  of  the  nineteenth  century,  it  has  always  stood 
for  something  vital  in  its  own  country.  Its  artists  have  re- 
garded it  seriously  as  the  expression  of  a  form  of  drama, — as 
distinctly  so  as  poetry  or  essay  are  forms  of  literature. 

The  Imperial  School  of  Ballet  in  Russia  has  not  been  con- 
tent to  train  dancers  and  then  throw  them  on  their  own  re- 
sources to  make  a  living  as  best  they  can.  It  has  always 
maintained  a  troupe  of  dancers,  selected  from  the  best  of  the 
pupils,  whose  position  made  it  possible  for  them  to  devote 
themselves  not  to  the  exploitation  of  themselves  but  the  de- 
velopment of  their  art.  They  are  allowed  to  dance  only  dur- 
ing the  best  years  of  their  life,  while  their  bodies  have  the 
suppleness  and  beauty  of  youth,  after  which  they  receive  a 
pension  and  are  obliged  to  retire.  But  to  cease  to  dance  does 
not  mean  to  cease  to  promote  the  efficiency  of  this  branch  of 
the  drama,  and  we  find  dancers  becoming  directors  and  in- 
ventors of  the  dance-drama. 

[146] 


w 


THE   RUSSIAN   DANCE-DRAMA 

The  reason  for  the  decadence  shown  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury seems  to  have  been  the  same  in  Russia  as  in  other  coun- 
tries. The  French  vogue  for  exhibition  of  technical  ability  de- 
stroyed the  natural  artistic  expression  of  the  dancers. 

The  directorship  of  the  ballet  had  been  entrusted  to  French- 
men and  other  foreign  dancers  whose  strict  idea  of  a  classical 
conventionality  had  no  relation  to  Russian  ideals  or  their  other 
expressional  forms  in  literature,  painting  or  drama. 

Gradually,  however,  that  passionate  interest  in  life,  tinged 
with  Oriental  fatalism  and  luxurious  imagination  which  is  felt 
so  strongly  in  the  other  forms  of  Russian  expression,  began 
to  find  its  way  into  the  ballet.  The  wonderful  revival  of  the 
national  ideal  in  music  lent  inspiration  to  the  awakening  of 
the  dance.  Look  over  the  names  of  the  composers  whose 
music  is  used  in  the  Russian  ballets:  Borodine,  Stravinski, 
Glazounow,  Tschaikowski,  Rimski-Korsakow.  Their  work  is 
imiversal  in  its  significance  but  notably  Russian  in  both  expres- 
sion and  appeal.  What  wonder  that  they  aroused  the  artistic 
spirit  of  the  dancers,  who  proceeded  to  shake  themselves  free 
of  the  fetters  of  conventionalism,  and  express  themselves  ac- 
cording to  the  abounding  temperament  of  their  own  country. 

And  truly  no  one  can  see  these  dance-dramas  of  the  new 
Russian  movement  without  realising  that  a  new  form  has  been 
imparted  to  this  art.    Here  is  realism  not  content  with  giving 

[149] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

us  the  mere  fact,  but  expressing  the  significance  of  the  fact  so 
forcefully  that  it  is  enhanced  fifty-fold.  No  longer  is  it  per- 
sonal and  peculiar  to  the  individual,  but  universal  and  typical 
of  the  elemental  forces  from  which  it  proceeds.  Is  it  the 
enamoured  Amoun  who  aspires  to  the  possession  of  the  dis- 
dainful Queen?  We  see  the  infatuation  of  the  moth  for  the 
destroying  flame,  universal,  elemental.  Is  it  the  persistent 
opposition  of  his  rejected  love,  Ta-hor,  who  would  save  him 
from  his  doom  and  free  him  from  the  fatal  enchantment?  We 
see  the  futile  fight  against  waning  passion  that  makes  tragedies 
all  the  world  over.  Characteristically  Russian,  but  universal 
also,  and  told  in  the  universal  language  of  dance  with  the  en- 
chantment of  music  whose  ardour  of  expression  is  characteris- 
tically Russian.  It  is  no  wonder  that  these  ballets  have  stirred 
the  artistic  world.  Not  the  principals  only  but  every  dancer 
in  them  is  a  trained  artist;  not  in  technical  achievement  alone, 
though  that  is  an  important  factor,  but  in  the  art  of  expression. 
In  the  smallest  detail  of  what  might  seem  like  a  mere  chorus 
part,  there  must  be  nothing  perfunctory,  no  single  gesture 
made  merely  for  the  sake  of  uniformity.  Each  must  have  an 
inspiring  motive.  Brains  must  move  as  well  as  muscles.  And 
the  gesture  must  be  thought  out  so  that  it  conveys  in  the  most 
poignant  manner  possible  the  conclusion  at  which  the  brain  has 
arrived.    It  is  not  the  naturalistic  gesture,  but  the  inter- 

[150] 


THE   RUSSIAN   DANCE-DRAMA 

pretive,  that  is  sought.  But  it  must  be  given  with  the  inner 
conviction  that  shall  make  it  seem  natural.  In  this  way  the 
Russians  have  created  a  new  choregraphic  language. 

The  scenery  is  planned  with  the  same  expressional  idea: 
no  absolute  imitation  of  any  individual  scene,  but  something 
that  will  best  express  the  character  of  the  environment  of  the 
drama  enacted.  The  costumes,  too,  must  enhance  the  emo- 
tional expression  of  the  wearers  and  the  general  character  of 
the  scene,  and  are  never  either  merely  charming  groupings  of 
colour  nor  authentic  copies  of  actual  garments  of  any  period  or 
country.  Thus,  this  basic  idea  of  expression  spurs  on  the  work- 
ers in  every  detail  of  the  production  and  the  art  of  the  director 
of  the  ballet  must  harmonise  these  and  give  to  each  its  just 
proportion  of  prominence.  For  example,  in  the  dance-drama 
of  Cleopatra,  while  Ta-hor  tries  to  turn  Amoun  from  his 
growing  infatuation  for  Cleopatra,  there  are  times  when  the 
figure  of  the  Queen  must  be  merely  a  baleful  shadow  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  drama  of  these  two  lovers  and  again  a  time 
when  a  glance,  flashed  from  her  compelling  eyes,  destroys  in 
a  moment  the  fabric  of  Ta-hor's  painfully  laid  defence.  But 
Cleopatra  must  make  no  movement.  Stretched  on  her  couch, 
she  appears  coldly  indifferent  to  these  mere  underlings,  even 
while  she  destroys  them  with  her  witchery. 

There  are  cruelty  and  bloodthirstiness  in  these  Oriental 

[151] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

dramas  of  the  Russians,  the  outcome  of  their  fatalistic  tenden- 
cies; but  the  horror  has  never  the  brutal  hideousness  of  the 
Grand  Guignol  or  of  the  modern  Japanese  naturalistic  drama. 
The  slaughter  of  the  faithless  wives  in  the  "Sheherazade"  is  a 
thing  of  horror  and  terror  and  fierce  revenge,  but  it  is  not 
sickening  or  revolting.  It  is  even  beautiful  in  a  lurid  way,  and 
the  solitary  figure  of  the  vengeful  Schah-riar,  wiping  his  scim- 
itar, as  he  gazes  at  the  dead  body  of  his  last  favourite  wife,  has 
pathos  and  dignity  as  well  as  remorselessness.  For  the  poise 
and  rhythm  of  the  dance  have  in  themselves  expressional  pow- 
ers that  make  gross  realism  unnecessary  and  embody  the  neces- 
sary narrative  in  suggested  outlines,  which  while  they  both 
enhance  and  elude  the  actual  fact,  never  lose  sight  of  the  in- 
forming spirit  of  them.  Nor  are  the  subtle  differences  of 
spirit  unexpressed.  In  the  two  dramas,  both  representing 
tyranny  and  cruelty  of  Oriental  despotism,  the  "Sheherazade" 
and  the  "Cleopatra,"  what  a  difFerenece  there  is  in  the  tempera- 
ment of  each!  In  the  "Sheherazade" — profusion,  luxury,  hot 
passions,  warmth,  light,  love;  a  scene,  curtained,  cushioned, 
draped,  with  closed  doors  and  heavy  scented  atmosphere;  the 
gestures  and  poses,  full  of  voluptuous  abandonment,  the  fig- 
ures of  the  sultanas,  like  exotic  orchids,  sensuous,  fragile,  intoxi- 
cating. 

But  in  "Cleopatra"  there  is  austerity  and  refinement  of 

[162] 


THE   RUSSIAN   DANCE-DRAMA 

sensuousness:  bare  walls,  stone  floors,  the  air  blowing  cool 
from  the  desert,  even  the  couch  of  the  Queen  straight  and 
hard.  The  colours  are  faint  and  cold  with  much  black  intro- 
duced, so  that  the  general  effect  is  less  that  of  colour  than  of 
lights  and  darks.  The  gestures  are  straight  and  tense;  the 
Queen  concentrated,  enigmatic,  absorbing  remorselessly  all 
that  approaches  her  of  life  and  joy,  and  in  exchange  bequeath- 
ing death. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  when  a  company  of  artists,  trained  in 
this  school  of  Russian  dance-dramas,  inspired  by  the  music  of 
the  vivid  school  of  Russian  composers,  came  to  Paris,  they 
electrified  that  city  with  their  new  form  of  art.  Here  was 
drama  raised  to  an  abstract  power;  but  retaining  its  warm 
fervent  touch  upon  vigorous  pulsating  life.  It  was  more  ab- 
stract than  pantomime,  more  alive  than  dance.  It  admitted 
of  the  wildest  frenzy  of  rhapsody,  but  remained  impersonal 
and  objective.  It  could  be  marble,  cold  and  remote,  or  throb- 
bing with  human  feeling.  It  was  a  series  of  pictures  for  the 
painter,  statues  for  the  sculptor,  stories  for  the  romancer,  psy- 
chology for  the  scientist  and  a  Thing  of  Beauty  for  every  eye. 
No  wonder  Paris  took  it  to  her  heart  and  loved  it. 

It  was  due  to  the  enterprise  of  Miss  Gertrude  Hoffman 
that  these  ballets  were  brought  to  this  country.  Herself  a 
trained  dancer,  she  could  not  fail  to  be  impressed  with  the  mar- 

[155] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

vellous  technique.  But  while  she  had  the  artist  vision  to  appre- 
ciate the  appeal  of  their  beauty,  she  had  also  the  American 
enterprise  and  courage  to  bring  them  to  her  native  country. 
It  was  a  colossal  undertaking  and  not  without  its  hazard.  If 
the  appreciation  of  our  public  had  been  a  "sure  thing,"  it  would 
not  have  been  left  to  her  to  bring  them.  But  managers  felt 
dubious  of  such  a  venture,  with  something  so  unusual  and  so 
expensive.  But,  undismayed.  Miss  Hoffman  worked  unceas- 
ingly for  two  years,  studying  under  one  of  their  professors, 
the  while,  to  realise  her  ambition.  At  the  end  of  that  time  with 
the  help  of  Mr.  Morris  Gest,  she  brought  over  the  entire 
company,  scenery,  costumes,  and  placed  before  the  New  York 
public  the  result  of  her  endeavour.  As  the  result  of  her  study 
she  was  able  to  appear  with  them,  identifying  herself  with  the 
spirit  and  method  of  their  work  and  showing  an  increase  in 
the  depth  of  her  own  artistic  powers  that  put  her  in  the  front: 
rank  of  artists. 

Let  us  examine  these  dramas,  so  full  of  the  exuberance  and 
the  fatalism  of  the  Orient  and  the  philosophic  melancholy  of 
the  Russian. 

The  scene  of  "Cleopatra"  is  an  Egyptian  temple,  built  with 
solidly  planted  permanence  that  marks  the  ai:chitecture  of 
Egypt.  The  walls  are  massive,  with  straight  square-cut  open- 
ings to  deep  embrasures,  in  which  the  shadows  lie  grey  and, 

[156] 


THE   RUSSIAN   DANCE-DRAMA 

opalescent.  A  few  straight-branched  tamarisk  trees,  vague 
greyish-green  in  line,  soften  the  corners  and  throw  black  pat- 
terning of  their  shadows  on  the  dulHoned  masonry.  But 
overhead  the  ceiling  cloth  is  a  mass  of  black  and  gold,  barred 
and  spotted  with  richly  sombre  ornament.  It  is  the  abode,  not 
of  luxury  but  of  mystery  and  austerity,  presupposing  dark 
recesses  beyond,  long  galleries  of  solid  stone,  and  hidden  cham- 
bers. If  we  examine  the  actual  detail,  we  are  impressed  by 
the  suggestiveness  of  the  lighting  which  leaves  dark  shadows 
in  the  corners  and  in  the  openings  of  the  doorways  and  il- 
lumines the  modellings  of  the  wall  embrasures.  The  priests 
and  attendants  slide  silent  and  impassive  from  place  to  place, 
intent  on  the  mysteries  of  their  calling.  The  place  is  hushed 
and  removed  from  the  turmoil  of  things — shut  in  by  the 
stretches  of  the  desert  and  its  own  imperishable  walls. 

But  even  these  barriers  have  not  shut  out  human  passions. 
Gliding  in  and  out  in  busy  preparation  are  the  fair  young 
priestesses.  They  make  ready  for  the  arrival  of  the  Queen  of 
Egypt  who  comes  to  spend  a  night  at  the  shrine  in  fulfilment 
of  a  vow.  But  it  is  not  the  expectation  of  her  coming  that 
makes  the  young  priestess  Ta-hor  look  with  longing  and  ex- 
pectation toward  the  great  doorway.  She  waits  for  the  young 
Arab-chief,  Amoun,  her  lover.  And  before  long  her  hopes 
are  rewarded;  Amoun,  young,  supple,  strong,  bounds  into  the 

[157] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

hall  and  clasps  her  in  his  arms.  He  has  been  hunting,  and 
even  now  his  bow  is  in  his  hand  and  the  quiver  of  arrows  slung 
over  his  shoulder.  He  is  stript  of  all  but  a  loin  cloth,  that  he 
may  run  with  fleetness  equal  to  his  prey. 

The  young  priestess  masks  her  love  that  she  may  once  more 
have  the  joy  of  having  him  woo  it.  She  darts  from  him,  elud- 
ing his  outspread  arm  and  holds  him  off  with  outstretched 
hands.  But  she  is  a  creature  too  friendly  and  frank  for  long 
resistance  and  presently  melts  into  his  arms  in  mutual  rapture. 

He  describes  to  her  his  chase,  the  boldness  of  his  arrow  shots, 
the  pursuit  of  the  quarry.  Then  again  they  give  themselves 
up  to  bliss.  The  entrance  of  the  high  priest,  clad  in  his  leopard 
skin,  seems  to  interrupt  their  gladness.  Will  he  tear  them 
apart?  He  seems  to  hesitate  and  then  leaves  them  that  he 
may  consult  the  oracle  of  the  shrine.  The  lovers  remain,  anx- 
ious and  fearful.  What  will  be  their  fate?  Can  they  resign 
themselves  to  parting,  or  shall  they  cling  together  come  weal 
come  woe?  Their  gestures  alternate  between  hesitating  re- 
nunciation and  passionate  defiance:  but  soon  the  priest  re- 
turns. The  oracles  are  favourable.  He  will  bless  their  union 
at  the  appointed  time,  and  the  lovers  are  made  happy. 

But  now  the  doors  are  flung  open.  There  enters  the  train 
of  the  Queen.  First  come  her  guards,  swart  Ethiopians, 
armed  with  spears;  then  rank  after  rank  of  slaves,  dancers, 

[158] 


MARIA  BALDINA  AS  TA-HOR  IN  THE  DANCE-DRAMA 


Photo,  by  White,  N.  Y. 
CLEOPATRA " 


THE   RUSSIAN   DANCE-DRAMA 

musicians,  Greeks  and  fan  bearers ;  lastly,  her  personal  attend- 
ants, grouped  closely  round  a  black,  sarcophagus-like  litter 
which  is  borne  on  the  shoulders  of  four  stalwart  negroes.  In 
it,  hidden  from  all  curious  eyes,  is  the  august  person  of  the 
Mighty  Queen. 

The  bearers  place  the  litter  on  the  ground,  and  the  maidens 
help  their  mistress  to  alight.  Lifted  from  her  resting  place, 
she  is  placed  on  a  pedestal  in  the  middle  of  the  hall;  swathed 
in  wrappings  from  head  to  foot,  shrouded  like  the  mummies  of 
her  ancestors.  Is  it  some  escape  from  death  which  she  has 
come  to  celebrate,  or  does  she  make  atonement  for  some  sin, 
that  she  comes  in  grave  clothes?  Her  maidens  loose  the  wrap- 
pages, and  circling  round  her,  free  her  from  their  sheath  and 
reveal  her  in  all  the  glory  of  her  beauty  and  witchery.  Languor- 
ously she  stretches  her  newly  freed  limbs,  moving  in  sinuous 
undulations;  the  only  curving  figure  in  that  mass  of  straight 
and  angular  poses.  And,  as  she  moves,  her  eyes  fall  on 
Amoun  who,  unperceived  till  now,  fascinated,  has  watched  the 
ceremony. 

Well  is  she  called  the  Serpent  of  the  Nile.  She  has  struck 
with  her  baleful  poison  straight  to  the  young  chief's  heart, 
and  henceforth  he  loses  remembrance  of  all  else  but  her.  With 
Ta-hor's  kisses  warm  on  his  lips  he  is  instantly  possessed  of  a 
mad  infatuation  for  the  queenly  enchantress.    Ta-hor  watches 

[161] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

him  and  vainly  tries  to  draw  him  away,  to  intercept  his  passage 
to  the  Queen;  while  the  attendants  drive  him  back,  as  they 
wait  on  their  mistress's  pleasure.  The  Queen  is  not  uncon- 
scious of  the  shaft  she  has  planted,  but  disdains  to  show  any 
sign  of  interest  and  wearily  stretches  herself  prone  on  the 
long  straight  couch.  With  head  resting  on  her  hands,  she  gazes 
before  her  with  inscrutable  eyes  that  seem  to  look  far  beyond 
the  present  scene,  while  her  dancers,  Greeks,  Jews,  and  Egyp- 
tians, seek  to  beguile  the  time  with  their  art.  Again  and  again 
the  love-crazed  Amoun  tries  to  fling  himself  at  her  feet,  but  is 
intercepted  by  Ta-hor,  who  wages  the  unequal  fight  against 
this  new  mad  passion.  It  is  the  age-old  hopeless  struggle,  fore- 
doomed to  defeat,  to  rekindle  the  quenched  ashes  of  a  burnt  out 
flame. 

Desperate,  at  last,  Amoun  remembers  his  skill  as  a  hunter. 
He  will  wing  an  arrow  with  the  tale  of  his  love  and  shoot  it 
at  his  enchantress  even  though  it  is  his  own  life  and  that  of  his 
former  love  that  must  pay  the  penalty.  He  seizes  a  parch- 
ment and  writing  on  it  his  mad  avowal,  wraps  it  round  the 
shaft  and  shoots  it  to  the  feet  of  the  Queen.  At  last  her  in- 
terest is  aroused  though  she  is  still  calm  and  deliberate.  Who 
has  had  boldness  thus  to  invade  her  aloofness?  As  her  slaves 
with  fierce  gestures  seize  the  desperate  man,  she,  smilingly, 
reads  the  parchment.    At  least  it  is  something  new  to  relieve 

[162] 


THE   RUSSIAN   DANCE-DRAMA 

the  monotony  of  the  evening.  She  bids  them  bring  him  to 
her.  She  gazes  long  and  dispassionately  at  him.  He  is  good 
to  look  upon,  young,  ardent,  beautiful  of  form.  How  best 
shall  he  be  made  to  gratify  her  caprices?  Shall  she  order  her 
slaves  to  torture  him  to  death  and  watch  those  supple  limbs  con- 
tort in  agony?  His  eyes  burn  with  passion  and  adoration. 
Fearlessly  he  proclaims  his  love  for  her.  His  tongue  is  win- 
ning. She  pauses  before  uttering  her  relentless  sentence. 
Death?  Yes,  but  first  she  will  enjoy  a  new  pleasure,  more 
weird,  more  macabre  than  any  she  has  tasted  before.  She  will 
give  herself  for  this  one  night  to  the  ardent  embraces  of  this 
impassioned  youth,  but  for  it  he  shall  pay  a  price  fitting  the 
condescension. 

The  flame  of  the  fire  which  has  attracted  him  shall  burn  him 
up  utterly.  And  that  night  for  him  shall  know  no  morrow. 
He  must  die  at  dawn.  Her  embracing  arms  must  be  his  last 
bond  to  life.  As  they  unclasp,  his  earthly  ties  are  to  dis- 
solve. He  shall  enjoy  the  one  mad  night,  but  never  the  mem- 
ory of  it.  She  bends  forward  and  whispers  the  condition  in  his 
ear.  Unhesitating,  Amoun  flings  himself  at  her  feet,  willing, 
nay  even  radiantly  happy  to  accept  her  terms.  Ta-hor  makes 
one  more  desperate  appeal,  even  crying  to  the  Queen  for 
mercy,  but  Amoun  thrusts  her  aside  and  she  is  dragged  from 
the  royal  presence,  while  Amoun  is  drawn  into  the  encircling 

[163] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

snare  of  the  beautiful,  slim,  white  arms  of  his  enchantress. 

Then  begins  a  scene  of  voluptuous  revelry.  Mad  dancers 
surge  around  the  couch  on  which  Cleopatra  and  Amoun  re- 
cline. Love,  delirious  passion,  is  in  the  air.  Faster  and  faster 
whirl  the  dancers  in  mad,  intoxicating  measures.  Exhausted, 
they  fling  themselves  to  the  floor  for  brief  respite.  Then  on 
again.  Truly  a  tragic  dance  of  the  hours,  which  fly  as  fast  as 
the  feet  of  the  dancers.  While  Ta-hor,  crouching  in  her  corner, 
counts  by  heart-throbs  the  moments  slipping  by. 

Suddenly  breaks  the  sound  of  trumpets.  The  day  is  dawn- 
ing; the  price  must  be  paid.  With  still  deliberate  movements 
and  inscrutable,  sombre  eyes,  the  Queen  calls  for  the  poison 
cup.  The  fangs  of  the  Serpent  are  bared;  unrelenting  she 
strikes  them  into  her  victim.  She  even  smiles  as  she  hands  him 
the  cup  and  watches  him  unflinchingly  fulfil  his  pledge.  No 
movement  or  contortion  of  his  death  agony  is  lost  on  her. 
Chin  on  hand,  the  smile  still  playing  round  her  lips,  and  with 
no  softening  of  pity  in  her  eyes,  she  sees  him  die.  Then  slowly, 
deliberately,  she  rises  from  her  couch  and  with  one  glance  over 
her  shoulder  at  the  body,  still  beautiful  in  death,  goes  to  meet 
her  new  lover.  Marc  Antony. 

But  her  triumph  ends  there.  After  all  she  shall  not  be  the 
last  to  hold  this  poor  victim  of  her  fascination  in  her  arms. 
She  may  leave  him,  but  the  faithful  Ta-hor  has  recovered  him 

[164] 


Photo:  bV  W'liit'e/N.  V. 

THEODORE  KOSLOFF  AS  AMOUN  IN  THE  DANCE^DRAMA  "CLEOPATRA" 

RUSSIAN  DANCERS 


THE   RUSSIAN   DANCE-DRAMA 

never  to  be  parted.  Casting  herself  on  the  ground  beside  him, 
she  tries  frantically  to  revive  him.  In  vain ;  life  has  fled.  But 
bending  over  the  pale  lips,  she  drinks  their  poison,  as  her  heart 
has  already  fed  on  the  poison  of  his  faithlessness.  He  is  hers 
once  more.  One  glance  of  passionate  triumph  toward  her  de- 
parted enemy  and  she  falls  lifeless  on  the  body  of  her  lover. 

Such  is  the  story,  forceful,  grim,  sensuous,  cruel,  as  the 
stern  impassive  figures  of  the  old  Egyptian  tombs.  It  is 
charged  with  burning  passion  that  does  not  warm  and  glow  but 
sears  and  blinds  with  livid  flame ;  filled,  too,  with  sombre  fatal- 
ism, which  stoops  not  to  mourn  or  pity  but  accepts  unquestion- 
ingly,  without  even  resignation.  One  tender  ray,  however, 
pierces  the  gloom,  as  a  sunbeam,  straying  through  a  chink 
in  the  temple's  solid  masonry,  might  fall  for  a  moment  on  the 
face  of  one  of  the  Colossi,  or  as  a  lotus  might  bloom  for  a  day 
on  the  dark  waters  of  a  shaded  pool.  It  is  the  faithful  love  of 
the  priestess  Ta-hor;  faithful  in  spite  of  her  lover's  faithless- 
ness; willing  to  sacrifice  herself,  if  she  may  save  him.  It  is 
the  one  note  of  human  truth  and  unselfishness  in  the  lurid 
tragedy  of  loveless  passion. 

Miss  Hoffman's  impersonation  of  the  sphinx-like  Queen 
was  a  confirmation  of  the  idea  that  the  dancer's  art  can  reveal 
the  psychology  even  of  a  complex  character.  For  here  was  a 
creature  of  exquisite  beauty,  but  with  cruelty  and  sensuousness 

[167] 


DANCING  AND  DANCERS  OF  TODAY 

betrayed  in  every  movement.  And  yet  not  even  consciously 
cruel.  It  was  not  the  wilful  caprice  of  the  coquette,  but  the 
more  deadly,  passive  cruelty  of  the  sphinx.  She  was  joying  in 
her  own  beauty  and  its  power,  but  accepting  them  and  their 
baleful  consequences  with  a  fatalism  that  admitted  of  neither 
joy  nor  pity.  Every  sleek  and  sinuous  movement  is  replete 
with  that  sinister  charm  which  is  seen  in  Aubrey  Beardsley's 
drawings  of  "evil  ladyes."  The  gestures  of  the  long,  slim  arms, 
the  angle  of  the  wrist  and  the  droop  of  the  strong,  slender 
hands,  all  are  expressive  of  nervous  quiescence,  of  unshrinking 
firmness  and  of  the  ability  to  bide  her  time.  It  is  an  image  not 
soon  effaced  from  the  memory  and  a  characterisation  so  vivid 
and  clear-cut,  that  no  spoken  word  could  have  made  it  more 
convincing. 

How  different  from  the  chiselled  clearness  of  the  Cleopatra 
is  the  impression  of  the  "Sheherazade!"  Here  all  is  glowing 
warmth  and  dusky  scented  atmosphere,  voluminous  draperies, 
sweeping  in  silken  folds  to  the  floor,  drowsy  colourings  of  reds 
and  golds ;  purples  and  golden  brown,  heaped  dishes  of  luxuri- 
ous fruits  and  exotic  flowers.  Jewels  glow  in  slumbrous  splen- 
dour on  the  satin  smooth  skin  of  voluptuous  arms  and  bosoms. 
Indolent  forms  of  women  of  the  harem  are  strewn  on  soft 
cushions  or  move  with  languid  grace  of  careless  ease.  The 
chattering  cries  and  shrill  laughter  of  girls  confuse  the  ear  as 

[168] 


THE   RUSSIAN   DANCE-DRAMA 

they  play  their  childish  pranks,  and  half  fearfully,  half  boldly 
defy  the  stolid  eunuchs  who  guard  their  seclusion. 

Firm  and  immobile  in  their  midst  stands  the  tall  figure  of 
the  Schah-riar,  with  pale  face  and  blue-black  beard.  He  gazes 
hauntingly  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  beautiful  forms  for  one 
that  he  can  trust  implicitly;  as  though  his  soul  were  lonely  even 
in  this  turmoil  of  caressing  arms,  and  the  soft  wooing  glances 
of  houris  as  lovely  as  those  of  paradise. 

And  slinking  through  the  midst  with  the  envious  snarl  of  a 
hungry  wolf  is  the  ominous  form  of  the  Schah-riar's  unhappy 
brother.  These  seductive  forms  and  appealing  smiles  are  as 
pricks  to  the  raw  wound  in  his  bosom.  He  despises  his 
brother's  fancied  security.  He  himself  has  been  betrayed,  so 
all  caresses  are  traitorous.  Fool!  to  allow  these  shallow  blan- 
dishments to  blind  him.  His  own  eyes  are  opened,  wide,  star- 
ing, unsleeping.  They  smart  and  ache  with  the  longing  for  one 
moment's  forgetfulness  of  the  horrible  abyss  into  which  they 
once  have  looked.     His  brother's  eyes  must  open,  too! 

Silently,  he  moves  among  them,  seeking  for  the  potion  that 
shall  open  those  blind  eyes  so  that  they,  too,  shall  sleep  no 
more.  And  he  finds  it.  One  word  in  the  ear  of  Schah-riar  and 
there  flickers  over  the  latter's  pale  grave  face  a  look  of  cold, 
fierce  passion,  charged  with  dismay  and  hatred.  But  only 
for  a  moment.    Among  all  these  swaying  forms  of  beauty  he 

[169] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

stands  again  firm,  immobile,  his  glance  following  one,  the  love- 
liest of  them  all.  And  now  they  cluster  round  him,  pressing 
against  him,  circling  round  him,  their  faces  raised  to  his.  Then 
he  is  alone  with  that  lovely  one,  Zobeide,  and  at  the  touch  of  her 
arms  he  forgets  the  poison  with  which  his  eyes  have  been 
anointed.  As  yet  the  scales  have  not  fallen  from  them  so  that 
they  do  not  penetrate  beyond  the  lovely  frame  which  conceals 
her  heart.  Why  look  deeper  when  the  outside  is  so  fair?  She 
winds  herself  arotlnd  him  like  the  vine  around  the  oak.  It  is 
an  ecstasy  to  feel  that  her  frailty  needs  his  strength.  The  ward- 
ers shall  look  to  her  well.  She  is  his  own;  his  absolute  pos- 
session. Nothing  shall  rob  him  of  her  beauty  and  enchant- 
ment. Banish  these  fears,  unworthy  of  a  superior  intelligence! 
Why  need  he  fear?  She  will  die  without  the  light  of  his  pres- 
ence. See  her  droop  and  languish  at  the  thought  of  his  de- 
parture. Well!  put  her  to  the  test  if  you  will.  He  is  secure. 
And  if  not^-=I 

The  doors  close  and  the  women  are  left  alone,  shut  into  that 
warm  and  scented  room  where  the  cool  air  of  the  hills  may 
never  blow,  where  the  light  from  the  swinging  lamps  sheds  a 
rosy  lustre  unlike  the  pure  clear  light  of  day.  On  their 
luxurious  pillows  the  sultanas  stretch  themselves  once  more. 
How  shall  they  pass  the  time  away?  The  dancing  of  the  slave 
girls?    The  clownings  of  the  buffoons?     Of  these  they  are  al- 

[170] 


Photo,  by  White,  N   Y. 

GERTRUDE  HOFFMAN  AS  "ZOBEIDE"  AND  ALEXIS  BULGAKOW  AS 
"SHAH-RIAR"  IN  THE  DANCE-DRAMA  "  SHEHERAZADE" 


THE   RUSSIAN   DANCE-DRAMA 

ready  weary.  There  is  a  wilder  frolic.  The  old,  half-foolish 
eunuch  cannot  withstand  their  blandishments.  Reluctantly, 
fearfully,  he  does  their  bidding.  First  the  huge  bronze  doors 
fly  open  and  in  rushes,  with  a  swirl  of  resounding  vigour,  a 
group  of  bronzed  Arabs.  Now  the  silver  doors  are  opened  and 
silver-clad  youths  join  the  others,  bringing  with  them  a  breeze 
of  outer  air,  stimulating  and  enlivening.  Tumultuously  they 
fling  themselves  into  the  throng  of  mischievous  daring  girls. 
But  one  door  remains  locked  and  Zobeide  herself  is  wheedling 
for  the  key  of  it.  Unable  to  resist  her  the  now  thoroughly 
demoralised  warder  relinquishes  his  key,  and  through  the  golden 
door  bounds  a  handsome  young  Arab  clad  in  golden  garments, 
comely,  vigorous,  conquering. 

And  then  begins  a  wild  saturnalia  of  love  and  feasting  and 
revelry.  Whirling  in  mad  rushes  round  the  hall,  the  Arabs 
seize  the  scampering  girls,  who  now  yield  and  now  repulse  them, 
then  struggle  wildly  in  their  arms  to  relax  suddenly  in  an 
abandon  of  sensuousness.  All  is  a  confused  f antasie  of  darting 
forms  and  swirling  draperies ;  strong  grasping  arms  and  lightly 
leaping  legs;  a  kaleidoscope  of  colour,  vigour  and  allurement. 
In  the  midst  Zobeide  and  her  Arab  lover  are  lost  in  a  dream  of 
love  which  lifts  them  from  the  whirling  mass  around  into  a 
paradise  of  throbbing,  fervent  rapture. 

So  wild  is  the  madness  of  the  revel  that  no  one  hears  the 

[173] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

approach  of  intruders.  But  in  their  midst  is  standing  once 
more  the  immobile  form  with  its  pale  face  of  Schah-riar.  And 
joined  with  the  swirling  throng  are  figures,  dire,  and  awful, 
silently  doing  their  dread  work.  They  are  the  King's  guards 
who,  obeying  his  orders  and  mingling  with  the  revellers,  are  mer- 
cilessly cutting  them  down,  men  and  women  alike.  The  wild 
whirl  has  grown  wilder,  but  even  as  a  form  bounds  into  the  air 
it  crumples  and  turns  and  falls,  a  limp,  distorted  mass.  The 
scimitar  of  the  Nubian  guard  has  done  its  deadly  work.  The 
wretched  women  fly,  terror-stricken,  from  place  to  place  only  to 
be  cut  down  as  they  run,  on  stair  or  floor,  in  pairs,  in  masses; 
their  bodies  strewn  as  they  fall;  here  piled,  one  upon  another 
in  confusion,  here  lying  alone  in  a  pitiful  huddle.  And  still 
the  pale  face  and  immobile  form  of  the  Schah-riar,  standing  in 
their  midst. 

From  a  pile  of  bodies  creeps  the  miserable  Zobeide  to  the 
feet  of  the  man,  once  her  adoring  lover.  She  clings  to  his 
knees  and  implores  him  to  spare  her.  Her  glorious  head  lies 
low  on  the  ground,  as  she  grovels  abject  in  her  terror.  Can 
he  see  her  thus  without  some  touch  of  pity?  Surely  she  could 
not  face  him  now  if  she  were  wholly  guilty?  His  white  face 
softens  for  one  minute.  But  instantly  at  his  side  is  the  gaunt 
wolf  form  of  his  brother.  With  his  foot,  disdainfully,  he  turns 
over  one  of  the  inert  forms  on  the  ground.     It  is  Zobeide's 

[174] 


THE   RUSSIAN   DANCE-DRAMA 

lover.  With  a  cry  she  raises  her  head  from  the  dust.  The 
beautiful  neck  is  thrown  back,  so  white  and  firm.  From  be- 
hind creeps  the  executioner  with  a  bow  string.  The  Schah- 
riar's  stern  pale  face  has  hardened  again.  Zobeide  knows  there 
is  no  escape.  She  seizes  a  knife  from  the  floor,  rises  to  her 
knees  and  plunges  it  deep.  Amid  the  carnage  towers  the  im- 
mobile form  of  the  pale-faced  Schah-riar.     His  eyes  are  opened. 

In  Zobeide,  as  in  Cleopatra,  Miss  Hoffman  gives  an  imper- 
sonation of  haunting  beauty.  She  does  not  dance,  but  her 
mimetic  movements  are  rhythmic,  undulating  and  caressing,  in 
perfect  accord  with  the  music  but  not  measured  to  its  beat. 
The  final  moments  of  terrified  intensity  touch  a  note  of  tragedy, 
rarely  reached  on  our  modern  stage. 

In  these  dance-dramas  one  thing  that  strikes  the  careful  ob- 
server is  the  intense  earnestness  of  every  individual  performer 
from  the  greatest  to  the  least.  It  is  a  thing  so  little  seen  among 
our  native  actors  that  it  needs  to  be  studied.  We  have  plenty 
of  conscientious,  careful  actors  who  carry  out  every  instruc- 
tion of  the  stage  managers  and  can  be  trusted  to  "get  every- 
thing over."  But  this  earnestness  of  the  artist,  living  in  his 
art,  seemingly  unconscious  of  the  audience,  not  working  for 
its  appreciation  only,  but  primarily  for  the  sake  of  perfecting 
a  work  of  art,  is  a  thing  so  new  to  us  that  we  hardly  know 
how  to  grasp  it.     For  audiences  need  training  as  well  as  per- 

[175] 


DANCING  AND  DANCERS  OF  TODAY 

formers,  and  the  Russian  dancers  are  too  new  as  yet  for  us 
to  realise  fully  the  beauty  of  their  art. 

Their  perfect  technique  and  dramatic  fire  have  so  astonished 
us,  that  for  the  most  part  we  have  not  had  time  to  study  the 
details  of  their  art.  Their  innate  sense  of  rhythm,  which  can 
correlate  a  seemingly  unregulated  rush  and  swirl  of  movement ; 
the  minutely  studied  psychology  of  the  various  gestures  and 
poses;  the  artistic  accord  of  technique  and  emotion — all  these 
things,  which  every  amateur  of  music  studies  at  the  opera  as 
a  matter  of  course,  we  have  not  yet  learned  to  treat  seriously 
in  the  Art  of  the  Dance. 

There  is  nothing  that  the  American  public  needs  more  to- 
day, to  cultivate  their  artistic  appreciation  of  drama,  opera,  and 
the  dance  itself,  than  just  such  a  School  of  Dancing  as  has  been 
developed  by  these  Russians. 

It  would  enhance  the  taste  for  Beauty,  that  beauty  which, 
in  so  many  of  our  productions,  despite  their  lavishness,  is  so 
wofully  lacking.  It  would  show  that  it  is  not  numbers,  but 
the  harmony  of  numbers  that  counts;  not  lavishness  of  detail, 
but  co-ordination  of  detail  that  makes  for  drama.  We  might 
even  learn  that  it  is  not  the  costliness  of  stage  decoration,  but 
subtle  sense  of  fitness,  that  makes  for  atmosphere;  that  a  well 
placed  stencilling  will  sometimes  suggest  the  character  of  a 
scene  as  convincingly  as  an  imported  crystal  chandelier.     The 

[176] 


Photo,  by  White.  N.  Y. 
LYDIA  LOPOUKOWA  IN  THE  DANCE^DRAMA  "SHEHERAZADE" 
RUSSIAN  DANCERS 


THE   RUSSIAN   DANCE-DRAMA 

production  of  such  a  school  would  so  accustom  our  eyes  to 
teauty  that  we  would  not  longer  tolerate  ugliness,  and  so  train 
us  to  an  ideal  perfection  of  harmony  that  we  should  rebel  at 
the  hotch-potch  too  often  served  up  to  us* 


CHAPTER  X 

MIKAIL  MORDKIN 

IN  1910  Mikail  Mordkin  and  Anna  Pavlowa  made  their 
appearance  with  the  ballet  of  the  Metropolitan  Opera 
House,  and  New  York  woke  up  to  realise  that  what  we 
had  regarded  languidly  as  a  rather  effete  manifestation  of  mu- 
sical tradition  was  something  real  and  vital.  To  begin  with, 
the  technique  of  these  artists  was  beyond  anjrthing  ever  seen 
in  this  country.  Their  airy  flights  and  exquisite  pirouettes 
were  not  only  exhibitions  of  extraordinary  skill,  but  a  language 
of  eloquent  expression  in  harmony  with  the  theme  or  motive 
of  the  dance.  Added  to  this  was  the  fact  that  both  of  the 
dancers  were  distinguished  by  a  grace  and  beauty  of  person  and 
form.  No  large  lumpy  muscles  nor  hard  wooden-looking 
limbs,  but  youthful  supple  figures  such  as  one  would  wish  to 
believe  that  all  young  people  possess! 

The  man  had  to  conquer  in  his  audience  a  certain  hesitancy 
and  suspicion.  A  male  dancer,  unless  his  performance  were 
eccentric,  was  quite  alien  to  the  American  idea  of  his  sex.  But 
to  the  surprise  of  his  audience  there  was  nothing  effeminate  or 
petty  in  Mordkin's  art.     His  movements  had  the  free  swing 

[180] 


Photo,  by  Mishkin  Studio,  N.  Y. 

ANNA  PAVLOWA  AND  MIKAIL  MORDKIN  IN  A  "  BACCHANALE  " 


MIKAIL   MORDKIN 

and  restrained  power  of  an  athlete.  Here  was  a  man  whd 
while  he  looked  as  if  he  could  take  care  of  himself  in  most  cir- 
cumstances in  which  a  man  might  be  placed,  could  yet  "stick  a 
rose  in  his  hair  without  looking  like  a  fool,"  to  quote  the  half- 
grudging  praise  bestowed  on  him  by  a  college  boy.  The  rea- 
son of  his  triumph  over  suspicion  and  prejudice  is  simple 
enough.  For  this  was  no  mere  exhibition  of  a  handsome  young 
man  in  elegant  and  airy  garments,  pirouetting  and  posturing  to 
obtain  admiration.  If  it  had  been  only  that,  no  amount  of  skill 
or  agility  or  beauty  of  person  could  have  saved  him  from  some 
degree  of  contempt  from  the  average  American.  But  here  was 
a  man  who  had  penetrated  into  the  meaning  of  things,  whose 
intellect  wasi  working  to  express  ideas,  while  his  body  was 
trained  to  be  the  instrument  of  expression  through  which  to 
express  them.  So,  if  he  stuck  a  rose  in  his  hair,  it  was  not 
with  the  object  of  exciting  admiration  for  his  personal  ap- 
pearance but  to  signify  the  joy  of  hfe  in  all  beautiful  things, 
and  the  desire  to  appropriate  and  use  all  that  nature  bestows 
for  our  delight.  Nor  is  it  only  the  joyous  beauties  of  life  that 
belong  to  this  form  of  the  dance. 

There  is  beauty  in  shadow  as  well  as  in  light,  and  the  grim 
tragedies  of  life  have  their  poetry  which  can  be  translated  into 
dance  as  well  as  into  words  and  music.  More  than  that,  the 
shadows  are  needed  to  enhance  the  light  and  keep  the  true 

[183] 


DANCING  AND  DANCERS  OF  TODAY 

harmony  of  art.  That  Mikail  Mordkin  has  the  poet's  mind  as 
well  as  the  dancer's  body  is  shown  by  his  appreciation  of  these 
rules  of  art  and  his  application  of  them  to  his  arrangements  of 
the  ballet  stories.  For  it  is  not  only  as  a  dancer  that  he  has 
distinguished  himself.  As  an  arranger  and  director  of  these 
complicated  ballets  he  has  proved  himself  a  wizard  of  dance 
craft.  For  Mikail  Mordkin  seems  to  have  absorbed  all  that 
even  that  great  school  of  art,  the  Russian  Imperial  School  of 
Ballet,  could  impart  and  given  himself  heart  and  soul  to  devel- 
oping and  augmenting  the  possibilities  of  the  expressional 
power  of  the  Dance.  The  early  training  which  in  his  case  started 
at  the  age  of  nine,  is  severe,  and  includes  much  more  than 
merely  physical  exercise.  Besides  these,  every  student  must 
study  music  thoroughly,  for  without  a  good  understanding  of 
music  it  is  hopeless  for  them  to  expect  to  enter  into  the  subtle^ 
ties  of  expression  to  which  music  is  the  clue,  and  which  are  ever 
the  goal  of  the  directors  of  the  Russian  ballet.  The  student 
also  must  master  history,  geography  and  literature,  all  with  a 
view  to  developing  his  knowledge  and  understanding  of  the 
characteristics  he  is  called  upon  to  portray. 

And  seriousness,  with  which  not  only  Mikail  Mordkin  but 
all  these  artists  of  the  Russian  School  of  Ballet  regard  their  art 
and  devote  to  it  constant  study  of  everything  intellectual  and 
artistic  that  may  refine  upon  or  enlarge  the  possibilities,  is  the 

[184] 


MIKAIL   MORDKIN 

life  spirit  which  gives  it  energy  and  constant  growth  and  vitality. 
Without  such  seriousness  no  art  can  live,  no  art  can  grow,  for 
growth  is  a  necessity  of  life. 

So  from  being  a  dancer  and  one  of  the  greatest  of  dancers 
we  iind  Mordkin  grow  to  be  also  the  director  and  arranger  of 
these  dance-dramas.  And  so  highly  is  he  thought  of  in  this 
branch  of  his  art  that  the  great  Bourgault-Ducondray  chose 
him  to  be  his  successor  in  the  production  of  his  ballet,  "The 
Arabian  Nights."  The  musician  had  spent  ten  years  in  Asia 
preparing  this  ballet  and  studying  Oriental  music,  but  found 
himself  unable  to  finish  the  production  on  account  of  fatal  ill- 
ness. Four  days  after  resigning  the  fruits  of  his  labour  to 
Mikail  Mordkin  he  died  and  the  responsibility  of  the  production 
fell  on  the  young  man's  shoulders;  and  ever  since  the  work  of 
producing  has  been  a  recognised  part  of  his  career,  giving 
wider  scope  to  the  poetic  instinct  that  has  always  been  a  char- 
acteristic of  his  art. 

Especially  does  he  seem  to  be  drawn  to  such  stories  as  admit 
of  a  mingling  of  the  grave  with  the  gay  and  in  the  ballets  of  his 
arrangement  there  will  usually  be  found  some  moment  of 
poignant  appeal,  not  merely  of  passion  but  of  emotions  more 
complex  and  subtle.  He  is  not  satisfied  with  the  merely  pretty 
and  obvious,  but  needs  the  touch  of  poetry  and  romance. 

In  illustration  of  this  take  his  arrangement  of  Delibes'  ballet 

[185] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

of  "Coppelia."  The  story,  well  known  to  opera-goers,  is  of  the 
aged  Doctor  Coppelius,  maker  of  mechanical  toys,  whose 
masterpiece  is  a  life-sized  doll,  which  he  has  devoted  himself 
to  making  as  nearly  human  as  possible.  So  well  has  he  suc- 
ceeded that  Franz,  simple  lad  of  the  Hungarian  village,  has 
seen  it  through  the  window  and  fallen  madly  in  love  with  it. 
Meanwhile  Swanhilda,  a  beautiful  maiden,  sighs  for  him  in  vain 
and  becomes  filled  with  bitterness  against  the  supplanter.  A 
fete  takes  place  in  the  village  and  in  the  prevailing  license  of 
mirth  Swanhilda  and  a  bevy  of  her  companions  invade  the  shop 
of  Doctor  Coppelius,  while  students  and  villagers  are  amusing 
themselves  at  the  doctor's  expense.  Through  the  window 
Franz  catches  sight  of  the  moving  forms  of  the  girls  and,  think- 
ing it  a  favourable  opportunity  to  visit  the  object  of  his  infatua- 
tion, mounts  a  ladder  to  enter  by  a  window.  But  the  doctor 
unexpectedly  returns,  drags  the  ladder  from  under  him  and 
while  he  is  still  prostrated  carries  him  into  the  laboratory  with 
the  determination  that  he  will  carry  out  a  long  meditated  ex- 
periment and  transfuse  the  vitality  of  the  young  man  into  the 
doll.  As  he  enters  the  laboratory  the  invading  girls  make 
their  exit  and  escape  as  best  they  can,  but  Swanhilda  uncere- 
moniously gets  rid  of  the  doll,  and,  taking  its  place,  imper- 
sonates it  with  great  success. 
To  his  delight  the  doctor  finds  the  doll  responsive  to  his 

[186] 


Photo,  by  White,  N.  Y. 


MIKAIL  MORDKIN 


MIKAIL   MORDKIN 

experiments.  Its  cheeks  glow  with  animation,  its  arms  and 
neck  are  warm  with  the  throb  of  life.  He  is  transported  with 
joy  at  his  apparent  success.  But  at  the  height  of  his  triumph 
Franz  recovers  consciousness  and  at  first  mistakes  Swanhilda 
for  his  mysterious  enchantress.  Later,  discovering  her 
identity  and  the  hallucination  under  which  he  has  laboured,  he 
transfers  to  her  his  affection,  and  the  two  fly  together,  leav- 
ing the  doctor  disillusioned.  In  the  original  the  story  ends 
here. 

But  that  was  to  make  of  the  little  poem  merely  the  recital 
of  a  practical  joke,  which  did  not  accord  with  the  artistic  spirit 
of  Mikail  Mordkin.  That  the  lovers  should  be  hght-hearted 
and  joyous  was  natural  and  fitting,  but  he  could  not  find  that 
it  accorded  with  the  true  spirit  of  life  to  make  the  disappointed 
experimenter  merely  a  butt  and  a  dupe.  Instead,  he  lent  to 
this  figure  a  certain  intensity,  sinister,  and  devoted ;  so  that  dis- 
covering the  hoUowness  of  his  short-lived  triumph  and  the  dis- 
appointment of  his  long  cherished  ambition,  he  is  broken-hearted 
and  falls  lifeless  on  the  floor,  as  the  lovers  carelessly  flit  to  their 
happiness.  Is  it  too  poignant  an  end  for  so  merry  a  little 
interlude?  The  Italian  temperament  might  say  "yes."  But 
the  touch  of  melancholy  is  characteristically  Russian  and  is  to 
be  found  in  nearly  every  phase  of  their  art.  We  might  even 
say  it  is  characteristic  of  life,  in  which  we  ever  find  that  we  can- 

[189] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

not  take  the  rose  and  leave  the  thorns.  In  any  case,  it  lifts 
the  whole  poem  on  to  a  higher  plane  of  dignity  by  showing  re- 
spect to  human  strivings  and  ambitions,  however  fantastic  their 
embodiment. 

But  it  is  the  deeper  humanity  of  this  point  of  view,  this  see- 
ing in  art  an  embodiment  of  life  instead  of  the  manifestation 
of  mechanical  puppets,  which  holds  our  interest  in  these  Rus- 
sian dancers.  Added  to  that  is  their  marvellous  command  of 
physical  expression.  Eyes,  lips,  gestures,  pose,  all  seem  to 
be  under  absolute  control  from  the  intellectual  centres.  Look 
at  the  picture  of  Mikail  Mordkin  and  Lydia  Lopoukowa  in 
Greek  Pastoral  costume. 

Here  are  a  man  and  woman,  highly  trained  and  educated, 
necessarily  sophisticated  by  their  contact  with  the  world  and 
connection  with  court  life,  conscious  that  the  eyes  of  number- 
less people  are  on  them.  But  what  do  we  see?  A  boy  and 
girl  in  the  Arcadia  of  first  love;  alone,  in  the  Lovely  Land  of 
Heart's  Desire,  with  no  words  to  express  the  new  strange 
emotions  surging  up  in  them.  Tongue-tied,  abstracted,  they 
smile  vaguely  from  pure  gladness ;  minds  unreasoning,  eyes  un- 
seeing, they  are  not  even  conscious  of  passion;  they  are  innocent, 
foolish,  happy. 

And  all  this  is  art;  but  the  deeper,  truer  kind  of  art  which 
consists  of  possessing  one's  self  with  the  soul  of  the  fact  and 

[190] 


41 

Photo,  by  White,  N.  Y. 


LYDIA  LOPOUKOWA  AND  MIKAIL  MORDKIN 


MIKAIL   MORDKIN 

steeping  one's  spirit  in  it,  until  the  spirit  penetrates  not  only 
the  mental  but  the  whole  physical  being. 

The  appeal,  however,  is  not  by  any  means  always  in  a  minor 
key.  The  Bow  and  Arrow  Dance  and  the  Indian  Dance,  not 
that  there  is  much  of  the  Indian  in  it,  are  as  full  of  gay  vigour 
as  a  breath  from  the  mountain  tops  or  the  first  nip  of  early 
autumn  frost  on  a  fine  October  morning.  To  see  Mordkin  in 
these  dances  is  to  feel  the  blood  sing  in  one's  veins!  No  task 
seems  too  great  to  be  attempted.  He  bounds  across  the  stage 
in  two  great  strides ;  four  walls  can  surely  never  hold  him ;  he 
belongs  to  God's  out-of-doors;  all  the  free  fleeting  things  of 
nature  are  his  brother's.  Not  only  is  there  suppleness  but 
strength  and  solidity  of  form.  His  foot  grips  the  ground  as 
the  root  of  an  oak  tree ;  the  grip  of  his  hands,  the  tension  of  his 
arms  are  hke  the  knotted  form  of  its  branches ;  full  of  strength. 
The  swing  and  ease  with  which  he  whirls  his  partner  high  in 
the  air  are  full  of  the  mastery  and  vigour  of  a  frame,  alive  in 
every  part.  But  form  has  not  been  sacrificed  to  muscle.  In 
every  part  of  the  body  there  is  symmetry  and  proportion. 
Whatever  exercise  has  been  needed  to  develop  this  flexibihty 
has  not  been  allowed  to  interfere  with  development  of  the  whole 
as  an  expression  of  the  mind.  Much  of  the  dancing  is  per- 
formed with  feet  and  legs  bare,  and  we  see  a  foot  unspoiled  by 
cramping  shoes,  toes  lying  flat  and  supple,  such  as  scientists 

[193] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

tell  us  we  are  in  danger  of  losing  as  a  race.  In  fact,  although 
the  long  training  may  be  specialised,  the  development  is  evi- 
dently working  with,  not  against,  nature. 

The  part  of  this  training,  however,  on  which  Mordkin  him- 
self lays  most  stress  is  not  the  purely  physical  one.  It  is  the 
training  of  the  mind  to  grasp  first,  the  meaning  of  the  emo- 
tions portrayed;  then  their  effect  on  the  person  feeling  them; 
the  effect  on  his  carriage  and  his  movements,  on  the  tensity  or 
laxity  of  his  muscles,  the  exciting  or  depressing  of  his  nerves ; 
then,  after  all,  is  the  study  of  how  to  convey  all  this  to  the  au- 
dience. Too  much  responsibility  must  not  be  given  to  the  facial 
expression ;  every  part  of  the  body  must  tell  the  story  in  its  own 
way. 

Mordkin  tells  of  himself,  in  an  article  written,  if  memory 
serves,  for  the  Sunday  Magazine,  that  it  took  him  one  year's 
study  to  learn  to  express,  by  his  body  in  movement,  the  simple 
emotion  of  hate.  He  tells  how  his  master  worked  with  him 
taking  as  a  theme  the  words,  "You  have  done  me  a  grievous 
wrong,  therefore  I  hate  you."  First,  together,  they  analysed 
the  emotion  of  hatred,  finding  that  as  it  is  directly  opposed  to 
love,  so  all  its  effects  on  the  body  will  be  the  opposite  to  those  of 
love.  Whereas  love  makes  the  body  quick  and  light,  hatred 
makes  it  heavy  and  slow.  Love  inclines  the  body  towards  the 
object  loved;  hatred,  though  not  inclining  it  away  from  the 

[194] 


MIKAIL   MORDKIN 

one  hated,  which  would  imply  some  fear,  holds  it  erect  and 
tense.  After  mastering  the  meaning  of  the  emotion  and  its 
effect  on  the  body  it  must  be  translated  into  movements, 
rhythmic  and  harmonious.  For  this  emotion  is  to  be  danced, 
not  acted,  and  the  dancer  must  know  thoroughly  this  dance 
language  so  that  he  can  translate  fluently  and  easily. 

For  perfect  appreciation  of  his  translation  of  course  it  is 
somewhat  necessary  that  his  audience  should  know  at  least  the 
rudiments  of  the  language  in  which  the  dancer  is  expressing 
himself.  The  lack  of  that  knowledge  in  England  and  this 
country  was  a  good  deal  of  a  surprise  to  Mikail  Mordkin, 
brought  up,  as  he  was,  in  a  country  where  it  has  always  been 
one  of  the  accepted  arts  of  expression,  and  is  as  thoroughly 
understood  as  the  musical  rendering  of  the  opera  is  here.  For 
just  as  naturalistic  speaking  in  the  opera  gives  place  to  the  song, 
and  action  and  expression  must  conform  to  the  music,  so  in 
the  dance,  naturalistic  movement  is  replaced  by  rhythmic,  har- 
monised movement  and  the  expression  must  be  co-ordinated 
with  these  and  the  music.  In  the  opera  we  look  for  all  this, 
but  to  expect  it  in  dancing  was  a  new  idea.  The  story  is  told 
that  Mordkin  was  present  in  this  country  at  a  vaudeville  show 
where  one  of  the  performers  burlesqued  the  "new  idea  of  Rus- 
sian dancing."  The  comedian  made  a  few  eccentric  steps,  then 
explained  to  his  audience  that  those  steps  signified  that  he 

[195] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

was  a  girl  whose  lover  was  sick  in  Pittsburgh  and  he  was  going 
by  train  to  see  him  and  would  have  to  change  from  the  local  to 
the  express.  Mordkin  saw  the  humour  of  the  situation  and 
laughed  heartily,  but  said  that  he  had  learnt  by  it  how  much  a 
general  audience  did  not  know  about  the  art  of  dancing. 

If  he  returns  to  this  country  next  season  he  may  find  out 
something  else,  and  that  is  how  quickly  the  American  audiences 
can  learn  when  once  their  minds  are  awakened  and  their  in- 
terest thoroughly  aroused. 


[196] 


CHAPTER  XI 

ANNA  PAVLOWA 

IF  some  airy  spirit  of  nature,  captured  by  a  kind-hearted 
poet,  who  had  trained  its  ear  to  mortal  music  and  its  heart 
by  recitation  of  stories  of  pathos  and  romance,  should  be 
allowed  freely  to  interpret  its  own  conception  of  human  life  it 
might  evolve  such  an  art  as  Pavlowa's.  The  earth  has  no  claim 
upon  her.  She  does  not  even  need  it  as  a  resting  place  for  her 
feet.  She  can  just  as  readily  float  in  the  air  or  swim  through 
the  waters.  So  in  interpreting  the  things  of  the  earth  she  is 
quite  detached  in  her  point  of  view,  a  lyric  embodiment  of 
the  soul  of  facts  far  more  than  an  impersonator  of  the  facts 
themselves.  Her  dancing  bears  towards  drama  the  same  rela- 
tion that  the  song  of  a  bird  bears  towards  the  song  of  the 
human  voice.  The  bird's  song  may  be  the  rapturous  carol  of 
the  lark  or  the  throbbing  pathos  of  the  nightingale,  either  of 
which  will  thrill  the  hearers  to  the  very  core,  though  it  has 
not  the  personal  capacity  to  experience  these  emotions  with 
which  the  human  voice  thrills  us.  And  thus  it  is  with  Pavlowa. 
She  has  the  bewitching  capacity  of  expressing,  to  an  exquisite 
degree,  a  whole  range  of  human  emotion  without  suggesting 
that  she  herself  has  any  personal  share  in  them. 

[197] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

For  one  thing,  her  technical  achievement  is  a  thing  so  won- 
derful as  to  place  her  beyond  the  physical  laws  that  govern 
the  movements  of  ordinary  mortals.  And  in  everything  she 
does  is  an  exquisiteness  of  dainty  grace  which  gives  it  poetic 
distinction.  Yet  with  it  is  an  air  of  wildness,  of  wilfulness 
and  mischievous  joy.  Never  do  we  feel  any  of  the  lassitude  of 
the  overtrained  or  the  sophistication  of  the  over-perfected.  It  is 
the  spontaneous  ebullition  of  the  airy  spirit  with  no  conscious- 
ness that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  technique.  Those  wonderful 
poses  which  she  maintains,  when  raised  in  the  arms  of  her  com- 
panion dancer,  are  the  absolute  expression  of  blended  art  and 
nature.  And  in  all  she  seems  to  be  filled  to  the  finger  tips  with 
the  sheer  joy  of  the  moment;  not  an  inch  of  her  but  is  fully  and 
consciously  alive. 

Moreover  the  training  in  the  Imperial  Ballet  School  has  in- 
cluded a  thorough  knowledge  of  music.  This,  with  the  Rus- 
sians, is  considered  a  most  necessary  part  of  the  dancer's  equip- 
ment, since  it  is  ever  from  the  music  that  she  must  seek  inspira- 
tion. Even  in  the  dance-drama  it  is  not  the  story  only  that 
must  be  interpreted,  but  every  subtle  mood  and  shade  of  the 
music  must  be  duly  revealed.  So  the  long  twelve  years'  study 
which  the  Imperial  School  demands  trains  not  body  only  but 
mind  and  taste.  The  pupils  study  the  geography,  history  and 
civilisation  of  various  countries;  their  literature  and  art  and 

[198] 


Photo,  by  Mishkiu  Studio,  N.  Y. 

ANNA  PAVLOWA  IN  A  "  BACCHANALE  " 


ANNA   PAVLOWA 

everything  that  will  help  to  develop  the  sympathetic  under- 
standing of  different  phases  of  human  life.  Accordingly  the 
dancers  who  have  come  to  us  from  this  school  have  been  no 
empty-headed  attitudinisers,  but  earnest,  studious  artists  devot- 
ing their  lives  to  what  they  claim  to  be  the  most  beautiful  of 
the  arts. 

In  allowing  to  these  artists  liberty  to  break  the  continuity 
of  their  twenty-year  contract,  the  Imperial  Ballet  School  has 
indeed  made  a  great  contribution  to  the  world  of  art.  And  in 
sending  Pavlowa  they  sent  of  their  best.  For  even  with  this 
wonderful  training  it  is  only  the  rare  genius  that  has  the  creative 
ability  and  fire  which  mark  her  achievement.  In  Russia  her 
name  holds  high  rank  among  the  great  artists  of  the  Dance. 

It  is  well  nigh  impossible  in  words  to  give  any  picture  of  the 
spirituelle  beauty  that  pervades  her  art.  The  varying  moods 
flash  and  melt  into  each  other  in  endless  procession.  Now 
shrinking  in  timid  dread,  now  mischievously  teasing,  dark  eyes 
full  of  tantalising  elfishness;  now  haughtily  disdainful,  head 
held  high,  the  tips  of  the  toe  hardly  deigning  to  touch  the 
ground;  now  archly  bashful,  arms  upraised,  eyelids  lowered, 
yet  one  quick  glance  beneath  them  darting  a  challenge.  For 
she  dances  with  eyes  and  smiles,  flash  of  the  teeth,  curve  of  the 
neck ;  every  part  of  her  in  accord  and  doing  its  share  in  the  ex- 
pression of  the  sentiment,  while  her  beautiful  mobile  features 

[201] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

change  with  the  changing  moods  like  the  surface  of  water  under 
the  play  of  the  sunshine  and  wind. 

How  slumbrously  dusky  are  her  eyes  as  she  sits  sullenly  and 
aloof  before  her  captors  in  the  drama  of  "Arabian  Nights," 
every  limb  tense  with  outraged  pride  and  hatred.  The  royal 
maiden  has  been  captured  by  warrior  hordes  who  have  brought 
her,  rolled  in  a  rug  of  rare  weave,  as  a  surprise  to  their  lord. 
How  full  of  dignity  and  appeal  is  her  movement  toward  the 
Schah  Rahman,  with  chained  hands  outstretched,  and  be- 
seeching eyes.  How  consciously  beguiling  is  each  pose  as  she 
lures  him  to  a  fancied  security,  all  the  while  watching  him 
with  stealthy  malice  and  long  slow  glances  that  wait  the  fulfil- 
ment of  her  purpose.  How  the  seeming  radiance  will  die  away 
from  her  face  and  limbs  and  body  as  she  turns  to  ply  him  with 
wine  with  which  she  counts  on  overwhelming  his  vigilance.  See 
her  as  she  sits  before  him,  every  limb  infused  with  inviting 
witchery,  a  smile  too  consciously  sweet  illuminating  her  face, 
while  the  eyes  are  those  of  a  startled  fawn,  watching,  ever 
watching.  And  when  her  end  is  accomplished  and  the  ravished 
Schah-Rahman  hangs  helpless  over  the  arm  of  his  throne,  how 
her  whole  form  shrinks  in  fearful  horror,  as,  clinging  to  her 
faithful  slave,  with  dilated  eyes  fixed  on  her  victim,  she  gropes 
for  the  door  which  leads  to  liberty. 

And  all  this  with  that  wonderful  aloofness  which  presents  so 

[202] 


Photo,  by  Mishkin  Studio,  N.  Y. 


ANNA  PAVLOWA 


ANNA   PAVLOWA 

much  more  of  the  spirit  of  the  fact  than  the  fact  itself!  If  you 
are  looking  for  simple  pantomime  acting,  you  may  not  ap- 
preciate Pavlowa.  But  when  acting  has  been  removed  to  this 
abstract  plane  and  you  learn  this  new  art  language  there  opens 
before  you  a  whole  world  of  beauty  and  expression.  For  it  is 
a  mistake  to  think  that,  because  Pavlowa  is  a  creature  of  ex- 
quisite beauty,  the  sight  of  that  beauty  is  the  whole  of  what 
there  is  to  be  enjoyed  in  her  performance.  There  is,  indeed, 
so  much  of  sheer  physical  beauty  that  it  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at  if  it  suffices  with  some  of  her  audience.  But  in  truth  she  has 
so  much  to  give,  if  one  only  looks  a  little  deeper,  that  it  will 
repay  even  that  unwonted  exertion  which  an  ordinary  theatre 
audience  seems  usually  to  grudge— the  exercise  of  its  mentality. 
Her  art  is  an  expression  of  exquisitely  intellectualised  sen- 
sations. 

For  this  language  of  abstract  emotion,  which  is  occupying  so 
much  of  the  attention  of  our  art  world  today,  is  set  forth  in 
Pavlowa's  art  in  a  manner  so  attractive  that  even  the  most  de- 
voted lover  of  the  naturalistic  school  is  forced  to  admire  it. 
The  sheer  beauty  of  Pavlowa's  appeal  cannot  but  fascinate  and 
ultimately  persuade  him  that  there  are  things  in  art  which  are 
real  and  true,  even  if  they  do  not  represent  cross-sections  of 
daily  happenings.  And  this  all  the  more,  because  the  last 
thing  one  could  ever  suspect  in  her  would  be  a  didactic  purpose 

[205] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

or  a  mission,  even  a  mission  to  enforce  the  love  of  beauty. 
As  one  watches  the  exquisite  harmony  of  her  movements, 
the  varying  expressions  of  her  body,  now  so  full  of  fire,  now  so 
languid  or  caressing,  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  convinced  that 
this  is  life.  Here  are  the  emotions  which  make  life  worth  while 
and  are  above  the  mechanical  routine  that  is  the  least  part  of 
living,  though  it  occupies  so  much  of  our  time  and  energy. 
Here  in  this  exquisite  creature  is  compact  the  pure  flame  of  all 
these  emotions.  She  has  not  experienced  them  but  the  spirit 
of  them  has  inspired  her.  It  is  our  own  experience  that  is  re- 
flected by  her — purged  of  all  actualities  and  made  abstract  and 
impersonal. 

Her  own  words  express  her  ideal:  "It  is  the  soul,  the  face- 
that  should  lead  the  dance.  The  body  is  subservient.  You 
must  forget  what  you  have  learned  to  do  with  the  body.  Ah  t 
but  you  must  first  learn  it !" 

It  is  an  old  story  that  the  face  is  the  mirror  of  the  soul.  But 
in  the  case  of  too  many  artists,  choregraphic  and  dramatic,  the 
mirror  reveals  a  vacuous  monotony;  betrays,  in  fact,  the  life- 
lessness  of  the  soul.  It  is  here  that  Pavlowa  takes  rank  with 
the  very  few  great  modern  artists  of  expression.  Her  soul  has 
been  quickened  by  study  and  reflection,  until  it  is  capable  of  a. 
wide  range  of  imagined  experiences,  among  which  it  flits  with 
the  spontaneous  freedom  of  a  butterfly  in  a  garden,  radiant 

[206] 


ANNA   PAVLOWA 

with  variety  of  flowers.  Meanwhile  every  mood  of  emotion 
takes  instant  reflection  in  the  sensitive  expressions  of  her  face, 
while  every  nerve  throughout  her  body  spontaneously  directs 
the  muscles  to  an  obligato  of  interpretative  movement.  Every 
passage  of  the  latter  is  instinct  with  a  virtuosity  which  the 
habit  of  practice  has  made  second  nature,  so  that,  while  there  is 
not  a  gesture,  however  slight,  without  its  charm  of  technique, 
they  pass  one  into  the  other  with  the  fluency  of  life.  Their 
marvellous  perfection  of  detail  does  but  contribute  to  the  finer 
expressiveness  of  the  whole  creation.  And,  what  a  variety  of 
modes  I 

Watch  her,  for  example,  as  Columbine,  beset  with  the 
amourous  rivalry  of  Harlequin  and  Gilles.  The  dance  is  a  "Pas 
de  Trois,"  arranged  by  M.  Legatt,  to  the  music  of  Drigo;  a 
piece  as  dainty  in  allurement  and  baffling  in  its  lace-like  com- 
plexities as  a  web  of  gossamer  jewelled  with  dew.  The  music 
exhales  the  very  soul  of  virginal  coquetry  and  Pavlowa  renders 
it  momentarily  incarnate  to  the  eye;  not  as  a  bird  caught  and 
imprisoned,  but  as  a  living  energy,  modulated  with  infinite 
variations  of  shifting  light  and  shade.  She  is  the  very  spirit  of 
young  femininity,  awakened  to  a  consciousness  of  her  own  at- 
tractiveness, dawning  to  the  sense  of  her  own  power,  glorying 
in  both  and  toying  with  her  new  sensations.  She  palpitates  to 
the  wooing  of  each  of  her  lovers,  as  the  strings  of  an  Eolian  harp 

[207] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

to  the  breathings  of  the  wind.  To  the  agile  blandishments  of 
Harlequin,  she  vibrates  with  movements,  now  supple  as  waving 
reeds,  now  swift  as  a  swallow's  flight.  She  darts  toward  his 
outstretched  arms,  poises  a  moment  and  dips  her  yielding  form 
to  his  embrace ;  then  a  moment  later  has  flashed  from  his  grasp, 
leaving  only  the  trail  of  a  smile  behind  her. 

Now  the  slow  antics  of  the  love-lorn  Gilles  attract  her.  She 
plays  around  him  with  the  lingering  evanescence  of  sheet-light- 
ning in  a  summer  sky.  His  uncouthness  awakes  a  strain  of 
tenderness  amid  her  volatile  sensations.  She  would  be  kind, 
she  pats  his  chin,  she  pities  him  and  lays  her  cheek  for  an  in- 
stant to  his  lips.  Harlequin  is  aflame,  he  threatens  his  friend. 
Columbine  averts  their  quarrel.  She  distracts  them  from 
themselves  in  renewed  devotion  to  herself.  She  plays  to  each 
in  turn,  dispensing  favours— a  touch  of  fingers,  a  smile,  a 
roguish  glance,  the  rare  rapture  of  a  winged  kiss.  Gradually 
she  is  aware  of  the  mystery  of  her  own  power  and  is  swayed  with 
the  fascination  of  exerting  it.  She  leads  her  would-be  captors 
captive;  hfts  each  in  turn  to  expectant  bliss  and  drops  him  to 
depths  of  disappointment.  She  plays  one  against  the  other; 
with  a  glance  can  raise  a  storm  of  rivalry  and  with  a  smile 
allay  it.  Finally  through  her  own  veins  the  magic  of  her  own 
witchery  runs  like  wine;  she  is  raptured  with  her  own  allure- 
ment, elate  with  triumph.     Swifter  and  swifter  grows  the  pace; 

[208] 


Photo,  by  White,  N.  Y. 


ANNA  PAVLOWA 


ANNA   PAVLOWA 

more  and  more  bewildering  the  rhythm  of  her  movements, 
while,  as  her  hands  float  upon  the  air,  they  seem  to  hold  in- 
visible strings  that  guide  the  antics  of  her  lovers.  They  are 
puppets  beneath  the  sway  of  her  resistless  charm.  She  is 
youth  and  mirth  and  mischief ;  more,  she  is  Desiree,  the  incar- 
nation of  Youth's  dream  of  love  and  loveliness ;  aye  and  more, 
she  is  the  mystery,  rendered  visible,  of  Life's  eternal  Elusive- 
ness. 

She  has  vanished  in  a  laugh;  to  reappear,  as  the  spirit  of  the 
Waltz.  The  music  is  Chopin's  and  the  lowered  light  makes  the 
scene  rather  felt  than  visible.  She  floats  into  view,  in  company 
with  Mozdkine  or,  it  may  be,  with  Novikoff*.  The  forms  of  the 
two  dancers  seem  to  be  incorporeal;  the  spiritual  embodiment 
of  the  music's  abstractions;  the  palpable  essence  of  the  ab- 
stract passion  and  poignancy  of  rhythm.  All  that  has  ever 
captured  one's  rarefied  imagination  of  the  soul  of  poetry  as  ex- 
pressed in  the  melodious  movement  of  the  dance,  purged  of 
any  physical  distraction,  seems  to  be  realised  and  made  more 
consumedly  perfect  in  this  inspired  interpretation.  All  that 
one  has  ever  dreamed  in  youth  of  the  stainless  loveliness  of 
life,  the  tenderness,  the  fragrance  and  delicious  elation  of  the 
purity  of  spiritual  love,  blossoms  anew  in  the  memory. 

Now,  the  music  changes !  The  subtle  spell  of  Chopin  passes 
into  a  Valse  Caprice  by  Rubinstein.     In  the  sparkle  of  light 

[211] 


DANCING  AND  DANCERS  OF  TODAY 

the  atmosphere  quivers  with  a  delicately  fluid  devilry.  It  is 
pungent  with  scarcely  perceptible  suggestions  of  the  revel  of 
the  senses.  The  dancers  become  transmitters  of  exquisite  sen- 
sations. Their  bodies  still  preserve  their  incorporeality;  they 
are  still  personifications,  touching  the  physical  apprehension 
with  infinite  surprises,  but  ever  with  a  purely  abstract  stimulus. 
Under  the  sway  of  the  music,  interpreted  by  this  marvellous 
language  of  choregraphic  art,  the  imagination,  purified  of  all 
alloy,  leaps  into  vivid  life;  glides  upon  floorless  spaces,  turns 
and  poises  in  mid-air,  and  languishes  weightless  in  the  arms  of 
ether.  It  is  the  ecstasy  of  the  senses,  rarefied  and  heightened 
by  the  magic  of  the  artist. 

But  the  music  changes  to  Glazounow's  "Automne  Bac- 
chanale."  We  are  transported  into  the  old,  young  world  of 
primitive  instincts  and  desires.  The  solitude  of  a  forest  dell  is 
interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  a  nymph  and  faun.  Gaily 
holding  hands  and  trailing  a  veil  above  their  laughing  faces, 
they  are  wafted  in  fleet-footed  as  a  breeze,  and  eddy  round  and 
round.  Their  forms  are  buoyant  with  the  untroubled  joy  of 
life;  their  limbs  free  in  nature's  artless  wantonness.  It  is 
enough  for  them  to  be  alive  and  every  movement  tells  their  glad- 
ness. Then,  suddenly,  an  instinct  stirs.  The  young  female 
thing  breaks  away  from  her  play-fellow.  He  pursues  her ;  they 
dodge  and  twist  in  flight,  he  has  caught  her  and  again  she  has 

[212] 


ANNA   PAVLOWA 

escaped  his  grasp.  For  a  while  it  is  but  children's  play;  then 
gradually  the  mystery  of  life  envelops  them.  She  becomes 
more  coy  and  timid;  he,  more  persistent  and  eager.  Nature 
prompts  her  to  innocent  wiles  and  him  to  hotter  pursuit;  until 
little  by  little  he  turns  to  hunter  and  she  becomes  the  hunted. 
She  flies  in  terror  of  herself  and  him.  When  he  catches  her, 
she  pants,  round-eyed,  like  a  rabbit  in  the  grasp  of  a  young 
hound.  For  as  yet  he  has  only  the  instinct  of  the  chase  and 
lets  his  prey  elude  him.  She  escapes  with  a  shriek,  the  sound 
of  which  stirs  him  with  delicious  frenzy.  And  now  the  dance 
becomes  a  whirl  of  sheer  mad  beauty  set  to  the  ever-quickening 
pulse-beats  of  the  two  young  hearts;  till  nature's  victory  is 
won  and  the  nymph,  drained  of  all  power  to  resist  the  call  of 
instinct,  swoons  at  the  feet  of  her  love. 

Bravo,  Pavlowa  I  Once  again,  as  in  all  your  dances,  you  have 
proved  yourself  the  artist  who  creates ;  who  snatches  us  from  the 
world  of  every  day  into  a  world  of  your  own  imagining,  per- 
meated with  the  beauty  that  transcends  time  and  place;  the 
beauty  of  the  universal. 


[213] 


CHAPTER  XII 
RITA  SACCHETTO 

THE  art  of  Rita  Sacchetto  is  marked  by  qualities  dis- 
tinctly her  own,  and  so  full  of  the  spirit  of  the  age 
that  her  contribution  to  the  art  of  dancing  is  unique 
and  vital. 

That  dancing  is  the  art  which  unites  the  sister  arts  of  music, 
poetry,  painting  and  sculpture  has  been  convincingly  demon- 
strated by  other  artists.  But  into  this  noble  group  Miss 
Sacchetto  has  introduced  one  more  element,  that  of  philosophy. 
The  word  is  used  in  its  simple  meaning  to  signify  the  "love  of 
wisdom,"  as  extended  to  "speculation  on  the  nature  of  things, 
existence,  freedom  and  truth."  For  all  through  her  dancing 
we  find  an  exposition  of  one  theme,  the  upward  evolution  of 
the  Soul  of  Woman;  the  craving  for  Beauty  and  Life  and 
Purity  of  Ideal.  This  idea  is  somewhere  present  in  every 
dance.  Her  art,  therefore,  involves  an  aristrocratic  aloofness, 
a  sort  of  loneliness  of  soul,  which  is  the  heritage  of  the  proud 
spirit  that  holds  its  head  high  and  fights  its  own  battles ;  accepts 
its  own  defeat  and  asks  no  pity,  but  hides  its  cares  behind  a 
smile  and  faces  the  world  anew. 

[214] 


Photo,  by  Franz  Grainer,  Munich 
RITA  SACCHETTO  IN  THE  CRINOLINE  DANCE 


RITA   SACCHETTO 

To  express  all  this  in  the  form  of  dance,  without  words, 
needs  strong  intellectual  grasp  of  the  mental  characteristics  of 
her  subject  and  extraordinary  sensitiveness  of  expression  in 
gesture,  carriage,  movement  and  pose.  Her  art  does  not  call 
for  the  wonderful  technical  execution  of  specialised  exercise, 
but  for  the  absolute  response  of  every  part  of  the  body  to  the 
most  subtle  shades  of  meaning.  Its  intellectuality  is  never 
thrust  on  us  but  is  clothed  in  a  garment  of  plastic  beauty, 
which  of  itself  is  a  joy  and  satisfaction  to  witness.  But  a 
dainty  elegance  and  a  high  bred  deliberateness  (if  one  may  as- 
sociate such  a  word  with  the  airy  movement  of  the  dance)  char- 
acterise her  personahty,  betokening  a  thoughtful  rather  than  an 
impulsive  nature. 

See  her  in  her  presentation  of  the  Crinoline  Dance  to  the 
accompaniment  of  the  elusive,  tripping  music  of  Gillet's  "Loin 
du  Bal."  She  is  very  girlish  and  dainty,  in  the  spotless  purity 
of  her  elegant  white  frock,  hooped  and  ruffled  according  to 
the  fashion  worn  by  the  Empress  Eugenie,  whom,  by  the  way, 
she  resembles  more  than  a  little.  Of  the  daintiest  white,  it 
maintains,  in  spite  of  its  voluminousness,  the  purity  and  sim- 
plicity and  freshness  of  a  summer  morning  and  choicely  befits 
the  virginal  charm  of  girlhood. 

She  sits  alone,  dreaming  of  the  pleasures  of  the  ball,  a  slim 
young  girl  looking  out  into  life,  her  eyes  misty  with  recoUec- 

[217] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

tion  of  her  little  triumphs  and  the  anticipation  of  the  mysteries 
of  life  opening  before  her.  Very  tender  and  sweet  she  is, 
with  just  a  dash  of  innocent  coquetry  and  a  youthful  vanity, 
the  unalienable  right  of  dawning  womanhood,  which  loves  her 
pretty  clothes,  the  floating  sash  and  touches  of  jewellery.  She 
moves  about  the  room  with  tripping  feet.  In  her  mind  she 
goes  through  a  little  comedy  of  caprice,  played  with  a  suitor 
who  asks  most  humbly  for  her  hand  in  the  dance.  She  bestows 
it  with  outward  graciousness  and  calm  but  a  little  inward  flutter 
of  anticipation.  Is  it  he  who  presented  the  roses  with  which 
she  has  been  toying  and  which  with  a  little  caress  are  laid  aside 
as  again  she  dances?  This  time  it  is  a  few  waltzing  steps,  her 
eyes  now  raised  in  simulated  haughtiness,  then  dropping  shyly. 
She  is  very  new  to  this  game  of  hearts,  this  little  girl  who  is 
playing  her  hand  alone,  guided  by  her  mother-wit.  Her 
heart  is  the  stake  and  it  may  be  that  to  lose  it  is  the  best  way 
to  win,  so  paradoxical  are  the  rules  of  the  game.  But  she  will 
not  give  in  without  a  struggle. 

If  he  thinks  the  prize  worth  while,  he  must  play  the  game  to 
the  end.  Ah,  now  he  has  made  a  false  play!  She  starts  from 
him,  head  held  high,  hps  curled  in  dignified  scorn,  form  held 
erect  and  prim  and  eyes  flashing  beneath  lowered  lashes.  No ! 
she  will  not  look  at  him!  Her  head  is  averted,  figure  drawn 
back;  the  dainty  foot  stamps  with  an  engaging  petulance.     The 

[218] 


RITA   SACCHETTO 

roses  are  brushed  aside;  one  is  crushed  and  its  petals  fall  to 
the  ground.     Is  this  really  to  be  the  end? 

Watch,  and  read  the  message  of  the  relaxing  form,  then  a 
softening  of  the  face,  not  too  suddenly.  She  knows  her  worth, 
and  forgiveness  must  be  sued  for  very  humbly.  She  and  she 
alone  can  keep  the  exalted  position  in  which  love  has  placed 
her.  If  she  relent  too  easily,  she  knows  by  instinct  that  a 
little  of  the  hedge  of  sanctity,  with  which  love  has  fenced  her 
around,  will  be  broken  and  can  never  be  repaired.  Her  heart 
is  warring  against  herself;  she  knows  she  must  capitulate,  but 
not  too  soon.  She  even  glories  in  her  power  to  cloud  all  the 
world  in  shadow  or  brighten  it  with  a  smile;  to  play  the  part 
of  destiny  and  hold  in  her  little  hand  the  life  of  a  man!  She 
cannot  resist  the  enjoyment  of  playing  on  those  heart  strings 
a  little  longer.  She  must  assure  herself  that  they  sound  true. 
A  little  mischievous  smile  dimples  the  corners  of  the  lips,  the 
pose  of  the  body  has  a  suggestion  of  archness.  She  is  dancing 
now,  with  just  a  shade  of  reserve,  but  more  of  teasing  piquancy. 
But  her  nature  is  too  sweet  to  torture  him  for  long  and  she  is 
too  unpractised  in  coquetry  to  hide  the  truth.  The  steps  be- 
come lighter  and  freer  and  more  rapturous.  Ah  I  the  black 
cloud  has  dispersed  and  she  floats  in  the  clear  blue  of  joy,  a 
buoyant,  billowy  mass  of  rippling  white,  radiant  with  happi- 
ness.    Eyes  dance,  the  skirt  sways,  the  little  feet  beneath  it 

[219] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

seem  hardly  to  touch  the  ground,  but  all  with  a  gracious  queen- 
liness  that  will  command  homage  as  well  as  longing  and  a 
crystal  clear  purity  and  simplicity  which  will  call  forth  devo- 
tion and  reverence. 

In  some  ways  it  is  a  simple  little  dance,  calling  for  no  mar- 
vels of  technique.  But  in  its  absolute  daintiness,  aloofness 
and  fragrant  purity  it  is  as  exquisite  a  work  of  art  as  one  of 
Vermeer's  pictures  of  Dutch  interiors,  lit  with  a  cool  light 
streaming  in  through  the  open  window.  In  neither  is  there 
anything  dramatic  or  grandiose;  but  both  exhibit  a  simplicity 
and  sensitiveness  of  refinement  and  exquisiteness  of  craftsman- 
ship that  raise  them  to  a  high  plane  of  artistic  achievement. 

Very  different  is  the  character  of  the  dance  which  interprets 
the  wild  strains  of  Chopin's  "Tarantella."  It  is  a  little  drama 
in  itself.  We  see  the  peasant  girl,  lively  and  carefree,  until 
she  feels  the  piercing  sting  of  the  poisonous  bite.  She  starts, 
confused,  astounded.  What  is  it?  Her  movements  hitherto 
have  been  easy,  vigorous ;  but  suddenly  she  feels  a  chilly  horror 
steahng  through  her  body.  The  limbs  congeal,  the  face 
blanches,  the  very  lips  seem  white  as  the  horrible  suspicion 
creeps  over  her.  Then  with  feverish  hands  she  seeks  to  assure 
herself  of  the  dread  truth.  Ah!  her  forebodings  were  too 
true!  It  is  there,  the  death-bringerl  She  wrenches  herself 
away  from  it,  and  gazes  fascinated.     She  knows  the  poison  is 

[220] 


RITA   SACCHETTO 

working  its  way  through  her  blood.  She  looks  wildly  around 
as  though  seeking  help.  Yet  she  knows  there  is  but  one  rem- 
edy, that  no  one  can  save  her  but  herself  alone.  She  must 
dance,  rapidly,  frantically,  until  the  violence  of  her  activity 
shall  free  her  from  the  taint.  No  one  may  aid  her;  she  is 
facing  death,  terrified,  distraught,  and  alone. 

She  summons  all  her  courage  and  begins  with  steps  that 
falter  at  first  but  gradually  become  more  wild  and  energetic. 
Backward  and  forward  her  body  sways,  faster  and  faster;  it  is 
a  race  with  death  and  terror  spurs  her  on.  Her  eyes  are  wild ; 
her  hair  streams  loose ;  the  steps  begin  to  lag,  the  vigour  of  her 
movement  slackens.  But,  no !  she  dare  not  stop  yet.  With  a 
heart-breaking  sob  she  starts  again.  Faster,  faster!  She  is 
not  dancing  now,  but  running  with  short  pattering  steps  this 
way  and  that.  Blind  with  misery  and  fatigue,  she  gropes  and 
stumbles  but  saves  herself  for  a  time.  It  is  too  hard,  too 
ciiiel.  The  fear  that  clutches  at  her  heart  clogs  her  footsteps 
and  they  drag  heavily.  Then  a  false  step  and  again  she  stum- 
bles and  this  time  falls  in  a  pitiful  heap,  exhausted,  all  but 
lifeless.  For  a  moment  she  lies  there,  beaten.  But  the  hor- 
ror is  driving  her  again.  She  drags  herself  by  force,  now  to  a 
sitting  posture,  then  to  her  feet.  She  will  fight  to  the  bitter 
end  in  her  lonely  struggle  against  the  unseen  foe.  She  is 
staggering  now.     Her  feet  drag;  her  form  bends  like  a  broken 

[221] 


DANCING  AND  DANCERS  OF  TODAY 

lily;  her  hands  are  outstretched,  groping,  warding  off  that 
terrible  something  which  is  lying  in  wait  to  clutch  her.  She 
is  mad  with  the  agony  of  it,  but  still  mechanically  drags  her 
body,  turning  and  stumbling,  the  life  ebbing  down,  down.  It 
is  torture,  but  she  does  not  stop,  because  the  poor  numbed 
brain  holds  but  the  one  idea — to  dance  and  dance  and  dance. 
Slower,  in  more  and  more  broken  rhythm,  she  sways  and  tot- 
ters; then,  shattered  and  exhausted,  without  even  conscious- 
ness left  to  will  a  continuance  of  the  ordeal,  falls.  The  wild 
wailing  music  is  hushed  into  silence. 

This  dance  of  the  ''Tarantella"  is  just  as  full  of  fire  as  the 
other  was  of  winsomeness.  But  through  both  we  have  a  peep 
into  the  true  Woman- Soul,  as  it  touches  the  realities  of  life, 
whether  fraught  with  joy  or  terror.  For  it  is  not  alone  the 
agonised  struggle  of  one  peasant  girl  to  save  herself  from  the 
poison  of  a  spider  that  Rita  Sacchetto  interprets,  but  the  strug- 
gle of  the  Woman-Soul  against  insidious  evil  which  would 
destroy  it.  It  is  the  Woman-Soul  fighting,  in  spite  of  despair; 
preferring  to  die  in  the  struggle  rather  than  tamely  submit  to 
a  ruthless  fate. 

And  so  in  all  Sacchetto's  dances  the  theme  is  ever  the  strug- 
gle toward  a  fuller  life,  a  higher  ideal.  Simmonetta,  stricken 
with  death  even  as  she  attains  the  ideal  of  vernal  beauty,  in  her 
dance  with  maidens  is  determined  through  all  her  sufferings? 

[222] 


Photo,  by  Franz  Grainer,  Munich 
RITA  SACCHETTO  IN  HER  SPANISH  DANCE 


RITA    SACCHETTO 

to  die  beautifully.  Djamileh,  the  Hindoo  Slave,  strives,  in 
spite  of  her  bonds,  to  win  from  her  lord  recognition  of  herself, 
her  individuality,  and  is  driven  to  desperation  when  he  refuses 
to  regard  her  otherwise  than  as  a  slave. 

One  performance  was  given  in  New  York  of  Sacchetto's 
ambitious  psychic  study  which  she  calls  a  "dance  symphonic," 
"The  Intellectual  Awakening  of  Woman,"  danced  to  the  music 
of  the  Peer  Gynt  Suite  of  Grieg  with  the  assistance  of  about 
thirty  dancers.  Its  motive  is  the  development  of  the  idea  of 
Walt  Whitman's  "Woman  of  the  Future."  From  the  dark 
ages  of  suppression  and  submission,  in  spite  of  discouragement 
and  opposition,  the  Woman- Soul  pushes  upward  like  a  growing 
plant  toward  the  light.  Through  materialism,  sex-slavery, 
and  convention  at  the  cost  of  sacrifice  it  ever  strives  to  achieve 
its  special  mission,  the  awakening  and  strengthening  of  the 
world. 

"Her  shape  arises. 

She,  less  guarded  than  ever,  yet  more  guarded  than  ever, 

The  gross  and  soiled  she  moves  among  do  not  make  her  gross  and  soiled. 

She  knows  the  thoughts  as  she  passes — ^nothing  is  concealed  from  her. 

She  is  none  the  less  considerate  or  friendly  therefore. 

She  is  the  best  beloved — it  is  without  exception — she  has  no  reason  to 

fear  and  she  does  not  fear, 
Oaths,  quarrels,  hiccuped  songs,  proposals,  smutty  expressions,  are  idle 

to  her  as  she  passes, 

[225] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

She  is  silent — she  is  possessed  of  herself — ^they  do  not  offend  her. 
She  receives  them  as  the  laws  of  nature  receives  them — she  is  strong — 
She  too  is  a  law  of  nature — ^there  is  no  law  stronger  than  she  is." 

(Walt  Whitman's  Chants  Democratic:  No.  2.) 

Although  this  inspiring  ideal  is  never  absent  from  Rita 
Sacchetto's  work,  it  must  not  be  thought  that  the  idea  is  in- 
sisted upon  in  every  individual  dance.  Into  the  "Caprice 
Espagnol,"  for  example,  she  throws  herself  with  the  merriest 
abandon,  to  the  accompaniment  of  castanets,  which  she  plays 
with  much  vivacity  and  fulness  of  tone.  Indeed,  when  she 
appeared  in  Madrid  her  use  of  this  characteristically  Spanish 
device  evoked  much  applause  and  she  was  declared  to  have 
surpassed  any  Castanet  player  of  that  city. 

Again,  the  little  "Pierrot  and  Butterfly  Dance"  is  full  of 
innocent  drollery.  The  mad  dashes  with  which  Pierrot  at- 
tempts to  catch  the  fluttering  white  object  and  his  puzzled 
disappointment  at  his  continued  failure  are  spirited  and 
piquant.  If  there  is  a  little  philosophy  in  the  remorse  which 
overcomes  him,  when  at  last  he  captures  his  prey  and  the 
gossamer  wings  are  crushed  by  his  hasty  snatching,  it  is  of  the 
semi-humorous  brand,  not  too  serious  for  even  the  gayest 
audience. 

For  Rita  Sacchetto  inherits  from  her  father  the  vivacity  of 
the  Italian  and  the  artistic  spirit  of  the  Venetian,  while  her 

[226] 


RITA   SACCHETTO 

talent  for  music  she  received  from  her  mother,  who  was  the 
daughter  of  an  Austrian  composer.  She  has  hved  in  Munich 
the  greater  part  of  her  hfe.  Her  training  for  the  technical 
side  of  her  art  was  received  from  the  hallet  master  of  the  Court 
Theatre  and  her  debut  was  made  in  the  Kunstler  Haus,  the 
artist's  theatre.  In  this  city  of  many  arts,  where  some  of  the 
most  successful  efforts  have  been  made  toward  the  combination 
of  the  arts  of  architecture,  painting,  drama,  music  and  danc- 
ing, Miss  Sacchetto  holds  an  honoured  position.  Her  genius, 
not  only  in  performing  but  in  composing  and  producing  her 
dances,  has  won  the  admiration  of  all  art-lovers,  and  during 
his  lifetime  the  painter,  Lenbach,  showed  great  interest  in  her 
work.  Her  costumes  and  mise-en-scenes  are  studied  with 
minutest  detail  and  she  has  a  wonderful  talent  for  reproducing 
the  atmosphere  and  style  of  the  works  of  painters  whose  pic- 
tures she  interprets  in  her  dances.  Velasquez,  Botticelli, 
Greuze  and  Rossetti  are  some  whose  works  have  inspired  her. 
In  costume,  colouring  and  in  the  character  of  all  her  move- 
ments and  poses  she  carries  out  the  distinguishing  style  of 
these  masters,  not  only  as  exhibited  in  the  particular  picture 
that  has  inspired  her,  but  throughout  their  works  generally. 

The  colouring  and  movement,  for  example,  of  the  "Spanish 
Dance"  have  the  rich  blacks  and  bold  patterning  of  the  paint- 
ings of  Velasquez  and  catch  again  and  again  a  movement  or 

[227] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF    TODAY 

pose  which  suggest  his  canvases.  Nor  need  an  art-lover  con- 
sult a  programme  to  discover  the  suggestion  of  Botticelli  in 
"Simmonetta's  dance"  or  the  colouring,  poses  and  gestures, 
characteristic  of  Rossetti,  in  the  "Death  Scene."  Sacchetto 
has  visited  the  great  cities  of  Europe,  everywhere  greeted  with 
the  warmest  admiration.  Her  art  is  recognised  as  so  individ- 
ual and  original,  that  it  fears  no  rivalry  even  with  the  most 
accomplished  of  her  fellow  artists. 

It  was  Loie  Fuller  who  brought  her  to  America  in  1909  to 
open  up  to  us  one  more  field  of  achievement  in  the  forgotten 
art.  For,  though  the  motive  of  the  two  dancers  is  widely 
different,  the  spirit  of  the  American  woman  felt  a  kinship 
with  the  other's  ideal.  Sacchetto,  indeed,  gifted  in  her  heri- 
tage and  fortunate  in  her  opportunities  of  developing  and  re- 
fining her  natural  genius,  has  acquired  a  broadness  of  outlook 
which  has  given  her  art  on  its  serious  side  an  appeal  that  over- 
flows the  distinctions  of  racial  characteristics  and  embraces  a 
Universal  Ideal  of  Womanhood. 


[228] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

COURT     DANCES 

WITH  the  present  reawakening  of  the  dance  instinct, 
which  is  shown,  not  only  in  the  interest  taken  in 
the  art  of  professional  dancers,  but  also  in  the 
effort  to  make  fuller  use  of  the  dance  in  adding  beauty  and 
joy  to  the  lives  of  the  people,  there  seems  to  be  every  hope 
that  there  will  be  also  a  revival  of  the  beauties  of  the  old  court 
dances.  That  they  will  appear  in  their  old  stateliness  and 
formality  is  not  likely,  as  in  no  way  would  that  be  expressive 
of  the  spirit  of  our  age.  The  appeal  which  they  will  make  to 
the  modern  world  is  that  of  sheer  beauty  and  grace  and  oppor- 
tunity of  self-expression.  And,  in  order  to  achieve  the  last- 
named  quality  it  may  be  necessary  to  sacrifice  some  of  the 
stateliness  and  allow  greater  freedom  and  simplicity;  for  every 
age  must  use  its  art  medium  in  its  own  way  or  its  art  will  lack 
vitality.  If  we  are  indeed  a  race  innately  vulgar  and  mindless, 
we  shall  produce  nothing  higher  than  bunny  hugs  and  turkey 
trots;  but  if  there  is  in  us  some  aspirations  to  beauty  and 
grace,  we  will  inevitably  turn  to  something  which  shall  embody 
these  aspirations. 

[229] 


DANCING  AND  DANCERS  OF  TODAY 

The  heyday  of  the  stately  and  elaborate  court  dances  was 
found  in  the  Court  of  France  during  the  seventeenth  century* 
We  have  already  noticed  the  elaborate  ballets  arranged  for 
and  danced  by  the  king»  and  princes  of  the  sixteenth  and 
seventeenth  centuries.  In  these  as  in  the  state  balls  the  cour- 
tiers must  bear  a  part  with  elegance  and  grace  and  much  gor- 
geous apparel.  And  indeed  these  court  dances,  with  their 
slow,  carefully  balanced  steps,  were  no  easy  aif airs  to  master. 
On  our  modern  stage  we  often  see  what  purports  to  be  a  court 
minuet,  but  very  seldom  do  see  the  original  "Little  steps'*  from 
which  the  dance  derived  its  name.  These  call  for  absolute 
balance  on  one  foot  as  the  other  is  moved  in  a  slow  circle  from 
back  to  front,  without,  of  course,  raising  the  point  of  the  toe 
from  the  ground.  Even  the  easier  form,  in  which  the  balance 
is  maintained  for  only  half  the  period,  is  a  task  too  exacting 
for  the  ordinary  dancer  of  modern  ballrooms.  The  difficult 
steps  became  much  modified  at  a  later  period,  in  fact  the  sim- 
ple gavotte  step  took  the  place  of  the  intricate  minuet,  and 
the  dance  itself  was  altered  to  meet  the  demands  of  an  age 
where  elegance  and  daintiness  had  taken  the  place  of  the  gor- 
geous magnificence  of  the  "Roi  Soleil." 

But  amid  the  grandeur  and  state  of  the  Salons  of  Versailles 
where  the  dancers  were  the  kings  and  queens  and  princes  of 
blood,  with  powerful  nobles  and  ambassadors  from  distant 

[230] 


A  PA VANE" 


Photo,  by  Pieter  Mijer.    Copyright 
ARRANGED  BY  MURRAY  ANDERSON 


COURT   DANCES 

lands  and  princely  dignitaries  of  the  Church,  all  clad  in  the 
richness  and  splendour  of  robes  embroidered  in  gold  and  sil- 
ver, of  laces  and  jewels,  these  courtly  dances  were  the  natural 
and  fitting  expression  of  an  ideal  of  luxurious  magnificence. 
They  were  the  expression  of  the  aristocratic  spirit  that  made 
of  the  dancers  a  people  removed  and  above  the  common  herd, 
to  be  worked  for  and  admired  and  obeyed  without  question: 
their  stately  actions  were  just  what  the  common  ordinary 
mortal  would  expect  of  their  dignity  and  exalted  position; 
and  therefore  they  were  the  fitting  art  of  expression  of  their 
time. 

What  could  better  exhibit  the  opulence  of  the  gorgeous  vel- 
vets and  satins,  with  their  arabesques  of  gold  and  silver  and 
their  couching  of  pearls  or  studding  of  precious  jewels,  than 
the  sweeping  circles  in  which  the  trains  or  cloaks  of  the  dancers 
were  held  in  the  "Pavane."    Well  is  it  called  the  Pavane  or 
Peacock,  for  its  slow  deliberate  pacing  and  the  manipulation 
of  the  splendid  fabrics  of  cloak  and  train  form  its  principal 
object.     Surely  at  those  balls  of  state  none  would  dare  to  take 
a  part  in  a  Pavane  whose  garments  were  not  of  the  most  sump- 
tuous description.     But  being  assured  of  this,  with  what  a 
loftiness  of  demeanour  would  these  exalted  beings  tread  their 
measure,  lifting  their  trains  with  dainty  jewelled  fingers,  cock- 
ing their  cloaks  with  their  swords  in  arrogant  superiority,  with 

[233] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

sweeping  courtesies,  elaborate  and  prolonged,  and  salutes  to 
the  tips  of  fair  fingers,  as  the  plumed  hat  flourished  from  the 
head  to  the  floor,  and  then  was  laid  across  the  heart  of  its  gal- 
lant wearer. 

For  to  all  these  court  dances  belong  the  wonderful  bows 
and  curtseys  and  kissing  of  hands,  themselves  matters  to  be 
studied  and  learned  by  careful  practice  and  increased  or  modi- 
fied to  suit  the  degree  of  the  partner  and  the  desire  to  make  a 
favourable  impression.  Not  a  little  of  diplomacy  and  politics 
were  put  into  these  ceremonial  dances  when  the  fate  of  a  nation 
might  hang  on  the  manipulation  of  a  fan  or  the  shape  of  a 
silk  clad  leg.  More  than  once  has  the  choice  of  a  future  queen 
been  decided  at  the  court  ball  and  grave  ambassadors  have  laid 
deep  schemes  for  alliances,  have  checked  and  counter-checked, 
while  they  balanced  and  bowed  and  curtseyed  with  exquisite 
precision,  as  though  that  was  the  sole  thought  in  their  minds. 
Did  any  of  them,  I  wonder,  in  these  long,  elaborate  curtseys, 
excel  the  supple,  liquid  grace  with  which  not  so  very  long  ago 
Ellen  Terry  used  to  slip  slowly,  almost  imperceptibly  down, 
melting,  it  almost  seemed,  to  an  exquisite  gesture  full  of  ex- 
pression and  variety  till  her  lovely  head  sometimes  nearly 
touched  her  knee ;  then  gradually  rising,  with  no  apparent  ef- 
fort, till  the  slim  form  was  once  again  erect  and  lissome?  To 
have  seen  her  perform  one  of  these  grand  curtseys  was  to 

[234] 


COURT   DANCES 

know  once  and  for  all  that  stiff  formality  was  not  a  necessary 
quality  of  the  courtly  dance. 

All  balls  were  not  aif  airs  of  state  and  these  gorgeous  cour- 
tiers were  very  human  and  needed  expressions  of  joy  and  mer- 
riment as  much  as  any  other  human  being.  Sometimes  they 
must  relax  and,  in  our  American  parlance,  "have  a  good  time." 
So  we  find  the  dances  of  that  period  by  no  means  lacking  in 
simpler,  gayer  measures  in  which  all  could  take  part. 

So,  to  provide  enjoyment  of  a  livelier  sort,  the  entertainment 
would  include  a  "Gaillarde."  This  was  a  much  more  merry 
affair,  though  still  one  of  the  "Basse  Dances,"  as  contrasted 
with  the  dance  "Baladine,"  or  high  dance.  This  distinction 
was  something  of  the  same  sort  as  the  difference  in  the  Spanish 
dances  between  the  "Danzas"  and  the  "Bayle."  The  Spanish 
Bayle  and  the  old  French  Baladine  are  lively  and  vivacious, 
danced  with  gestures  of  arms,  heads  and  bodies  and  the  foot 
well  lifted;  while  the  "Basse  Dance"  and  Danzas  are  slow  and 
gliding,  the  foot  being  never  lifted  from  the  floor. 

The  Gaillarde  was  not  unlike  our  modern  dances,  however, 
in  one  respect  and  that  is,  it  refused  to  be  circumscribed  in  its 
expression.  Though  it  was  originally  a  Basse  Dance  it  grad- 
ually lost  its  solemn  characteristics  and  became  very  lively  and 
the  name  of  one  old  Gaillarde,  "Baisons-nous  ma  Belle,"  sug- 
gests that  the  delights  of  the  kissing  dances  of  the  people  were 

[235] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF    TODAY 

not  entirely  unknown  to  the  court.  So,  after  all,  the  lace  ruffles 
and  long  curls  of  the  gallants  and  the  stiff  brocades  and  heavily- 
jewelled  trains  of  the  ladies  did  not  mean  that  they  were  less 
human  than  the  young  people  of  our  own  day.  And  while 
they  performed  the  pantomimic  dances  such  as  the  "Courante," 
which  called  for  pretty  displays  of  coquetry  from  the  ladies 
and  ardent  suing  from  the  gentlemen,  there  was  just  as  much 
zest  in  the  game  of  flirtation  as  was  ever  put  into  a  modern 
cotillon  figure. 

Not  formality,  then,  but  grace  and  elegance  expressed  the 
prevailing  mood  of  these  dances.  The  Minuet  was  often  re- 
placed by  the  gayer  and  simpler  "Gavotte,"  at  one  time  a  Folk 
dance  but  adopted  by  the  court;  and  even  hoop  skirts  and 
patches  and  wigs  and  swords  did  not  prevent  the  "Allemand" 
being  a  gay  and  lively  affair.  But  it  was  capable  of  much 
beauty  and  ingenuity  in  the  variety  of  its  poses,  though  the 
partners  must  hold  each  other  by  both  hands  throughout.  The 
steps  were  not  complicated,  as  in  the  Minuet,  so  that  the 
dancers'  whole  attention  could  be  focussed  on  the  joy  of  the 
moment  and  its  expression  in  pose  and  gesture. 

Later  came  the  vogue  of  the  "Saraband."  Coming  from 
Spain  it  was  full  of  fire  and  vivacity  and  became  so  popular  in 
France  and  England  as  almost  to  displace  the  Minuet.  It 
was  usually  accompanied  by  the  music  of  guitars,  sometimes 

[236] 


COURT   DANCES 

played  by  the  dancer,  and  gave  ample  opportunity  for  the 
display  of  beautiful  and  skilful  dancing. 

Nor  does  this  complete  the  list,  for  we  have  not  even  spoken 
of  court  dances  of  Spain,  Italy,  Russia,  Hungary,  and  all  the 
other  nations  of  Europe.  And  to  all  of  these  we  are  the  nat- 
ural heirs.  It  seems  more  than  a  little  strange  that  we  turn 
away  from  our  rich  inheritance  and  busy  ourselves  with  the 
shells  and  glass  beads  of  primitive  savages.  It  is  true  that 
the  coin  of  our  inheritance  is,  in  some  cases,  antique  and  obso- 
lete, but  its  value  is  not  the  less,  even  if  it  must  be  reminted 
for  our  use.  If  necessary  we  can  put  on  it  the  stamp  and 
image  of  our  own  modem  currency  and  its  value  will  surely 
be  greater  than  that  of  the  barbarous  tokens  which  we  have 
acquired  with  such  childish  pride. 

The  court  dances,  shown  on  the  professional  stage,  have 
usually  been  introduced  in  "powder"  plays  for  the  sake  of 
imparting  something  of  the  old  stateliness  to  the  atmosphere 
of  the  play.  Consequently,  the  gayer  side  of  the  old  time 
social  dancing  has  been  somewhat  forgotten.  For  the  exag- 
gerated courtliness  of  these  dances  modern  dress  seems  out  of 
place  and  modern  manners  certainly  would  be  somewhat 
strained.  But  we  have  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  a  re- 
vival of  some  of  these  old  time  dances  where  the  livelier 
Gavotte  has  replaced  the  Minuet  and  even  that  has  been  quick- 

[237] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

ened  up  to  a  vivacious  pace  more  in  accordance  with  the  tempo 
of  the  twentieth  century.  These  dances  which  have  been  ex- 
hibited by  Mr.  Murray- Anderson  and  Miss  Crawford  are 
full  of  a  charming  mingling  of  old  time  elegance  and  modern 
vivacity.  Sometimes  the  old  and  the  new  are  placed  side  by 
side  so  that  we  can  compare  them  and  learn  that  we  may,  if  we 
will,  retain  the  charm  of  the  one  without  abandoning  the  free 
swing  and  exhilaration  of  the  other. 

For,  arrayed  in  beautiful  costumes  not  noticeably  out  of 
date  even  if  a  little  original  for  our  conventionally  dressed 
countrymen,  these  dancers  begin  a  stately  dance  to  the  digni- 
fied music  of  the  "Boccherini  Minuet."  No  item  is  omitted  of 
the  formal  bow  and  sweeping  curtsey,  the  fluttering  fan  and 
flourish  of  the  hat.  But  the  music  changes;  a  lively  modern 
dance  tune,  with  a  suggestion  of  the  national  rag-time,  sup- 
plants the  formal  rhythmic  measure  of  the  tune  of  the  by- 
gone day,  as  indeed  it  has  done  only  too  thoroughly. 

Shall  we  lose  our  graceful  dances?  Will  they,  too,  "turkey 
trot"  with  the  uncouth  crowd?  For  one  moment  they  are  dis- 
mayed. This  is  the  "younger  generation  knocking  at  the  door" 
with  a  vengeance.  Shall  they  withstand  it,  attempt  by  force 
to  stop  the  outrage?  Or  shall  they  withdraw  their  dignified 
presence  from  the  scene  of  such  unworthy  revels  and  leave  the 
grotesque  dancers  to  their  own  devices?     Or  shall  they  just 

[238] 


COURT   DANCES 

drop  down  to  the  standard  of  these  less  idealistic  merry-makers 
and  join  in  the  scramble?  For  a  while  they  seem  in  doubt. 
But  then  their  courage  and  ideals  triumph,  and  boldly  changing 
their  step  to  the  changed  time,  but  not  altering  the  form  or 
gracefulness  of  their  movement,  they  continue  their  dance,  sub- 
stituting gaiety  for  dignity  and  vivacity  for  deliberation.  It 
is  not  too  difficult  for  the  ordinary  lover  of  dancing,  this  ele- 
gant movement ;  it  is  not  too  solemn  for  the  merriest  party  and 
it  is  not  too  conspicuous  for  this  self-conscious  age.  So  let 
us  take  heart  of  grace  and  hope  that  the  time  is  not  far  distant 
when  we  shall  see  a  revival  of  dances  along  these  lines. 

Mr.  Murray- Anderson  and  Miss  Crawford  are  both  of  Scot- 
tish origin  and  have  studied  these  dances  from  sheer  love  of 
their  dignified  beauty.  They  find  them  congenial  to  their  tem- 
peramental expression  and  believe  there  is  a  scope  for  modern 
expression  to  be  found,  if  not  in  the  minuet,  at  least  in  one  or 
other  of  the  Court  Dances.  Miss  Crawford  has  a  special 
genius  for  discovering  and  working  out  forgotten  forms  of 
the  dance  and  imparting  to  them  life  and  motion.  Not  only 
that,  but  inheriting  from  her  father  a  strong  inventive  faculty 
she  has  contrived  some  novel  mechanical  devices  which  promise 
to  enhance  the  effectiveness  of  her  art. 

In  England  and  Vienna  some  very  charming  court  dances 
have  been  exhibited  by  the  three  Wiesenthal  sisters.     But  only 

[241] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

one  of  the  sisters  came  to  America,  so  they  have  not  been  seen 
yet  in  this  country.  Their  costumes  were  beautiful  combina- 
tions of  colours  and  the  whole  picture  suggested  a  group  of 
Dresden  china  figures.  One  of  the  sisters  assumed  masculine 
attire,  while  the  others,  in  large  hoop  skirts  and  powdered  hair, 
combined  with  her  to  make  a  picture  of  dainty  elegance  and 
delicate  precision. 

For  the  modern  allure  of  these  graceful  dances  is  not  in  the 
formal  stateliness  of  the  old  "Minuet  de  la  Cour"  so  much  as 
in  the  gracious,  gentle  gaiety  of  the  simpler  dances.  In  them 
we  find  the  flavour  of  the  refinement  of  spacious  parlours  fur- 
nished in  the  choice  simplicity  of  Hepplewhite  and  Sheraton, 
fragrant  with  the  scent  of  rose  leaves  and  lavender.  Brass 
candle  sconces  hold  the  wax  candles;  two  or  three  choice  bits 
of  porcelain  are  placed  about  the  room;  choice  prints  on  the 
delicately  tinted  walls,  with  their  white  woodwork;  a  bowl  of 
roses  rests  on  a  table,  spread  with  delicate  white  napery  and 
exquisite  china  and  glass ;  nothing  lavish  nor  profuse  but  every- 
thing well  ordered  and  fitting,  designed  for  true  recreation 
and  enjoyment  with  no  sacrifice  of  good  breeding  or  good 
taste.  In  our  modern  homes  we  try  to  obtain  some  such  at- 
mosphere. In  many  of  the  handsomer  houses  of  New  York 
are  rooms  noble  enough  to  be  the  setting  for  the  stateliest 
Minuet  de  la  Cour,  and  in  the  majority  there  is  the  attempt 

[242] 


COURT   DANCES 

to  combine  modern  comfort  and  convenience  with  the  dignity 
and  refinement  of  good  taste.  The  attempt  is  usually  suc- 
cessful; for  we  adapt  ourselves  quickly  to  beautiful  surround- 
ings. The  day  of  barbaric  splendour  has  passed,  and  a  cul- 
tured taste  has  demanded  a  cultured  environment. 

It  is  therefore  inevitable  that  our  social  dancing  must,  in 
time,  as  we  realise  that  it,  too,  is  an  art  and  a  phase  of  self- 
expression,  reach  a  plane  worthy  of  our  culture  and  intelli- 
gence. Time  was  when  the  beauty  of  the  waltz  satisfied  us, 
but  we  need  something  new,  and  so  far  our  gropings  for  it 
have  led  only  to  crude  results.  But,  as  every  people  get  the 
art  that  they  deserve,  we  may  be  sure  that  something  will 
evolve  which  is  beautiful  and  characteristic  and  satisfying  to 
our  desire  for  expression. 


1243] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

GRETE  WIESENTHAL 

THE  music  is  throbbing  with  the  wild  yearning  strains 
of  Liszt's  "Hungarian  Rhapsodic."  The  curtains 
part  and  we  gaze  at  a  setting  of  blank  creamy  white 
hangings.  There  is  no  suggestion  of  sumptuousness  in  their 
fabric  or  sweep  of  majesty  in  their  folds.  They  appear  plain, 
simple,  rather  restricted  and  unexpressive.  And  here  creeps 
out  with  halting,  timid  gesture,  a  slight  wistful-eyed  child, 
dressed  in  the  simple,  useful  garments  of  a  little  peasant. 
Did  the  white  blankness  of  the  curtains  symbolise  the  life  and 
experience  of  this  little  maiden?  Are  all  her  history,  her  af- 
fections, her  hopes  even,  still  to  be  written  on  the  blank  walls 
of  her  life?  As  yet  she  knows  not  what  she  feels.  She  has 
not  awakened  to  consciousness  of  her  share  of  the  heart  beats 
of  the  throbbing  music.  She  has  lived  only  in  the  routine  of 
eating  and  sleeping  and  dressing  and  washing  with  the  daily 
tasks  necessary  to  keep  the  body  alive;  but  she  herself  has 
never  awakened  and  looked  out  on  the  world  to  know  herself 
part  of  it.     She  is  truly  a  simple,  untaught  child. 

Her  short  pleated  skirt  is  made  of  dark  homespun  and  the 
white  sleeves  of  her  bodice  are  plain  and  unadorned:  her  long 

[244] 


Photo,  by  White,  N.  Y. 
GRETE  WIESENTHAL  IN  LISZT'S  HUNGARIAN  RHAPSODY 


GRETE   WIESENTHAL 

dark  hair  is  braided  and  tied  with  ribbons.  Sandals  are  on 
her  feet  but  her  legs  are  bare.  Her  face  is  grave  and  wonder- 
ing and  she  peers  around  with  curiosity.  But  the  world  is 
bright,  there  seems  nothing  here  to  harm.  She  stretches  out 
her  arms  and  her  body  sways  a  little  in  a  gesture  of  well  being 
and  content,  the  head  goes  back  and  the  lips  part.  She  has 
escaped  from  the  monotony  of  indoor  life  and  daily  tasks  and 
here  she  is  alone  in  the  big  world.     Shall  she  not  enjoy  it? 

Against  the  rhythmic  beat  of  the  melody  are  those  yearning 
vague  phrases,  those  beatings  of  the  wings  of  the  soul  for 
flight,  upward,  upward!  And  in  her  heart  something  re- 
sponds. Slowly  she  raises  herself  erect,  lifting  her  body  and 
taking  a  few  bounding  steps,  with  arms  outstretched,  enjoying 
the  unwonted  freedom  but  still  uncertain  of  what  wonders  or 
terrors  may  lurk  in  this  lonely  world.  Her  long  braid  falls 
across  her  hand.  Half  curiously  she  holds  it,  looking  at  it 
and  its  gay  ribbons.  Its  soft,  warm  touch,  and  glossy  bright- 
ness are  part  of  the  general  well  being  and  she  smiles  as  she 
runs  with  steps  still  faltering,  but  with  uncertainty,  not  fear. 
She  does  not  actively  wish  for  anything  but  just  lets  her  de- 
licious sense  of  careless  freedom  flow  all  through  her  body. 
Back  and  forth,  with  swaying,  lilting  steps  she  strays.  Ah!  it 
is  good  to  feel  the  rhythmic  sway  of  limbs  and  body. 

Now  she  turns  with  more  conscious  vigour,  the  steps  are 

[247] 


DANCING  AND  DANCERS  OF  TODAY 

more  bounding  as  she  lifts  herself  lightly,  filled  with  the  desire 
to  soar  and  soar,  ever  higher  and  higher.  Like  the  skylark 
seeking  the  blue,  not  flying  direct  to  any  precise  place  but 
just  penetrating,  seeking,  the  upper  air.  But  now  that  de- 
sire is  born  in  her  being,  it  must  grow  and  knit  her  more  and 
more  closely  to  the  heart  of  nature.  New  emotions  stir  her 
every  minute  and  the  vague  sense  of  well  being  blooms  into 
deep-felt  joy,  and  joy  is  only  half  felt  if  there  is  not  a  touch 
of  pain,  so  apprehension  quivers  through  the  figure  which 
wavers  as  a  reed  in  the  wind.  Ah,  life  is  truly  making  itself 
felt! 

The  music  takes  on  a  more  definite  melody.  The  emotions 
only  hinted  at  before  call  and  cry  aloud  instead  of  whispering 
and  sighing.  There  is  joy  and  laughter  and  light  and  love  to 
be  grasped  at  and  held  close,  then  given  out  again,  warmed  and 
nourished  by  the  contact.  Or  there  are  hate  and  fear  and 
gloomy  places  to  be  fled  from  and  struggled  with  even  though 
their  grip  is  hurting  the  heart.  All  these  are  life  and  she  too 
will  live  I 

Oh,  yes!  But  not  yet,  little  girl!  All  these  shall  be  writ- 
ten on  the  white  walls  of  your  life,  but  not  yet.  You  have 
come  to  this  place  apart  and  looked  for  a  moment  into  the  fu- 
ture but  you  are  still  only  the  little,  untried  girl  with  the  long, 
soft  shining  braids  and  fluttering  ribbons.    But  you  have  felt 

[248] 


GRETE   WIESENTHAL: 

the  throb  and  call  of  life,  you  have  tuned  your  feet  to  the 
rhythmic  pulse  of  the  core  of  the  universe,  you  have  whirled 
around  in  the  thrill  of  passion,  so  though  the  music  goes  back 
to  the  first  vague  plodding  measure,  and  your  own  steps  retard 
and  grow  less  sure,  as  you  come  back  from  the  vision  to  the 
normal  round  of  life  there  is  still  something  different  in  their 
movement.  Now  it  is  a  languor,  a  conscious  waiting,  in  the 
smile  is  the  memory  as  well  as  an  expectation,  and  the  flutter- 
ing little  sigh  which  troubles  the  breath  tells  that  a  step  has 
been  taken  in  life's  journey  which  can  never  be  retraced! 

A  few  weeks  ago  while  visiting  a  family  living  in  the  suburbs, 
during  the  evening  a  gramaphone  was  brought  out  onto  the 
lawn  to  amuse  the  young  children  of  our  hosts.  Presently  the 
notes  of  our  Hungarian  Rhapsodic  filled  the  air.  The 
rhythmic  beat  of  the  first  part  is  certainly  not  more  suggestive 
of  dancing  than  any  other  of  the  airs  that  had  already  been 
played,  and  up  to  now  none  of  the  children  had  been  dancing. 
But  at  about  the  fourth  bar  of  the  Hungarian  Rhapsodic  the 
youngest  daughter  of  our  hosts,  a  slim,  serious-faced,  brown- 
eyed  child  of  about  four  years,  unprompted  by  any  of  the  com- 
pany, slipped  down  from  the  lap  of  her  mother  and  poised 
herself  for  a  moment  on  her  toes;  then,  with  no  consciousness 
of  the  surrounding  company,  but  simply  in  response  to  some 
sensation  that  the  music  aroused  in  her,  with  arms  outstretched, 

[249] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

she  began  to  take  long  slow,  swaying  steps,  rhythmic  but  not 
actually  timed  to  the  beat  of  the  music.  She  had  never  done 
it  before,  it  was  a  wholly  spontaneous  response  to  the  inspira- 
tion of  the  music;  she  has  had  no  training  in  dancing  except 
such  as  is  given  by  the  usual  kindergarten  teaching,  in  which, 
of  course,  the  rhythmic  sense  is  developed.  But  in  her  little, 
light,  unformed  figure  and  faltering  steps,  rapt  eyes  and 
outstretched  arms,  one  felt  again  that  awakening  in  this  tiny 
creature  of  the  call  of  life,  of  emotion,  of  expression,  of  art. 
It  was  a  picture  not  soon  to  be  forgotten,  this  graceful  little 
elfin  figure,  with  short  brown  linen  dress  and  bare  legs  and 
sandalled  feet,  gliding  over  the  dusky  lawn,  her  serious  intent 
face  and  golden  head  drooping  slightly  over  one  shoulder,  her 
lips  slightly  parted  in  expectation,  her  big  brown  eyes  veiled, 
withdrawn  from  the  surroundings,  intent  on  some  inner  emo- 
tion the  music  had  aroused.  Is  it  hidden  in  this  Rhapsodic, 
this  call  of  life,  to  evoke  this  response  in  sensitive  souls,  or  was 
this  a  coincidence? 

In  England  and  Vienna  Fraulein  Grete  Wiesenthal  made 
her  appearance  in  company  with  two  sisters.  Together  they 
danced  the  old  court  dances  with  a  daintiness  and  charm  that 
won  for  them  universal  admiration.  Her  two  sisters  did  not 
accompany  her  to  this  country,  and  the  peculiar  delicacy  of  her 
appeal  was  rather  lost  in  the  surroundings  of  the  Winter  Gar-^ 

[250] 


f^» 


Photo,  by  White,  N.  Y. 
GRETE  WIESENTHAL  IN  LISZT'S  HUNGARIAN  RHAPSODY 


CRETE   WIESENTHAL 

den.  She  seems  to  belong  to  out-of-doors.  The  glare  of  the 
footlights  is  not  consistent  with  something  wild  and  timid  in 
her  nature.  She  is  more  akin  to  those  graceful  little  antelopes 
who  stand  and  gaze  at  you  for  a  moment  as  long  as  you  remain 
absolutely  still,  but,  if  you  try  to  approach  them,  have  turned 
and  bounded  away  beyond  your  sight  before  you  have  taken 
one  step. 

Fraulein  Wiesenthal's  second  dance  was  to  the  music  of 
Strauss's  "Blue  Danube."  It  was  of  great  interest  to  see  how 
her  conception  of  this  familiar  theme  differed  from  that  of 
Isadora  Duncan.  For,  whereas  the  latter  was  a  glad  joyous 
creature  with  moods  of  pensive  melancholy,  the  Viennese  dancer 
suggested  an  eerie,  shrinking  sprite,  sporting  in  the  shallows 
of  the  water,  hiding  in  their  depths,  carried  along  sometimes 
in  a  mad  rush,  then  drawing  back,  veiled  in  her  hair,  watch- 
ing, fascinated,  the  wild  whirl  of  water.  But  all  the  time  she 
is  half  fearful,  half  wondering,  a  creature  of  reserve  and  shy- 
ness; appealing  in  its  sensitiveness,  naive  in  its  curiosity;  yield- 
ing herself  to  rather  than  taking  part  in  the  impetuous  course 
of  the  stream  and  finally  plunging,  sinking  deep  into  its  utter- 
most heart,  head  bowed  to  the  ground,  and  flowing,  rippling 
hair  falling  and  obscuring  face,  neck  and  arms. 

The  charm  of  Crete  Wiesenthal's  dancing  lies,  not  in  the 
technical  equipment,  for  of  that  her  stock  does  not  seem  to  be 

[253] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

very  great,  or  in  any  profundity  of  emotional  expression,  but 
in  a  delicate  sensitiveness  of  nuance,  suggesting  rather  than 
expressing  the  reserves  and  veilings  of  the  mysteries  of  nature. 
It  does  not  sweep  you  away  with  any  voluptuous  intoxication, 
but  is  cooling,  fragrant  and  soothing. 

But  it  is  not  cold  or  insipid;  it  suggests  depths  and  varieties 
of  emotional  possibihty  not  yet  developed  and  jealously 
guarded  from  irreverent  display.  She  touches  the  emotions 
more  than  moves  them,  like  the  light  sweep  of  the  harp  strings 
after  the  variety  and  complexity  of  the  orchestra.  Let  us 
hope  we  may  see  her  again,  and  not  only  herself  but  her  two 
sisters  with  whom  she  appeared  in  London.  She  has  her  own 
individual  note  in  the  chord  of  expression. 


[254] 


CHAPTER  XV 

ECCENTRIC  DANCING 

IT  is  impossible  to  write  about  dancing  in  America  with- 
out some  reference  to  the  various  phases  of  eccentric 
dancing  of  which  there  is  such  an  abundance.  Although 
variations  in  form  and  style  of  these  dances  succeed  each  other 
with  kaleidoscopic  mutability  there  has  occurred  no  renaissance 
of  eccentric  dancing,  because  the  vogue  for  it  has  never  de- 
clined. Its  ideals  of  expression,  as  far  as  they  go,  are  sincere, 
full  of  vitality  and  spontaneity,  and  of  wide  appeal. 

"Eccentric  Dancing"  covers  too  wide  an  area  to  claim  for 
it,  as  a  whole,  a  purely  American  origin;  but  there  are  phases 
of  it  which  have  originated  in  this  country  and  have  taken  a 
strong  hold  on  the  imagination  of  the  public,  strongly  influenc- 
ing the  popular  conception  of  the  qualities  and  technique  ex- 
pected in  exhibitions  of  dancing  of  all  kinds.  Of  these 
qualities  those  most  in  request  have  been  agility,  inventiveness 
and  a  humorous  rather  than  serious  intention. 

The  most  notable  of  the  American  dances  are  derived  from 
the  negro  of  the  old  slave  days,  the  buck  and  wing,  cake- 
walks  and  rag-times.    In  all  these  there  is  the  curious  mix- 

[266] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

ture  of  careless  gaiety  and  ultra  self -consciousness,  the  freakish 
vivacity  with  solemnity  of  self-importance,  the  true  sense  of 
humour  with  a  frank  appeal  for  approbation.  These  charac- 
teristics were  borrowed  in  the  early  days  of  minstrel  shows, 
and  made  popular  by  the  very  accomplished  comedians  and 
dancers  which  those  shows  include;  who,  by  their  cleverness 
and  artistry,  created  the  demand  for  these  qualities  which  has 
become  inherent  in  the  public  taste. 

That  the  demand  is  there  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  in  nearly 
every  vaudeville  programme  will  be  found  one  or  more  exhibi- 
tions of  these  phases  of  dancing.  And  very  neat  and  agile 
work  it  is  too,  and  in  a  general  way  expressive  of  its  own  pe- 
culiar characteristics.  There  is  no  attempt  at  beauty  and 
grace,  and  with  some  of  the  buck  and  wing  dancers  immobility 
of  face  is  a  point  of  pride.  But  that  does  not  prevent  a 
strongly  humorous  suggestion  in  the  loose- jointed,  careless 
flingings  and  twistings  of  the  rapidly  moving  legs  and  feet  as 
they  turn  and  twinkle  at  seemingly  impossible  angles. 

To  those  who  know  the  country  well  the  name  "buck  and 
wing"  dances  will  suggest  the  stevedores  and  roustabouts  along 
the  Mississippi  River.  There  you  see  it  in  its  glory,  danced 
on  the  levees  or  between  decks  of  the  river  steamers,  by  husky, 
wiry  negroes,  who  thus  fill  in  the  time  between  handling  the 
freights.    Usually  two  will  dance,  vying  with  each  other  in 

[256] 


ECCENTRIC   DANCING 

originality,  agility  and  endurance,  while  their  comrades  lie 
around,  marking  the  time  with  clapping  hands  and  stamping 
feet,  cheering  them  on  to  increased  efforts.  In  method  it  is 
not  altogether  unhke  the  "step  dancing"  of  the  English  factory 
towns,  but  entirely  different  in  spirit  and  with  the  added 
quaintness  of  the  rag-time,  which  gives  it  an  elusive  quality  far 
more  inspiriting  than  the  monotonous  beat  of  the  step  dance. 

There  is  not  much  of  the  native,  primitive  buck-and-wing 
dancing  to  be  seen  on  our  stage  at  present,  but  there  are  many 
fine  dancers  who  use  its  motive  in  their  dancing  acts,  and  its 
influence  appears  in  nearly  all  of  the  modern  eccentric  dancing 
of  American  origin. 

The  cake-walk  may  include  many  forms  of  dancing  and  into 
it  may  be  infused  all  the  expression  of  which  the  dancers  are 
capable,  for  at  its  best  it  is  a  mixture  of  pantomime  and  dance 
which  is  akin  to  ballet.  It  is  true  that  the  fact  that  each 
couple  dances  not  only  independently  of,  but  even  in  rivalry 
with  the  others,  prevents  any  effects  of  ensemble  between  the 
different  groups,  nevertheless  each  individual  couple  will  pre- 
sent a  dehghtful  variety  of  comedy  interludes. 

Anyone  who  has  seen  a  "cake-walk"  performed  between  two 
good  negro  dancers  does  not  need  to  be  reminded  of  its  fas- 
cination. It  is  a  comedy  lifted  from  the  child-age  of  humanity, 
notwithstanding  that  it  is  costumed  in  a  travesty  of  modern 

[259] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

fashion.  Its  naturalness  is  entirely  unabashed,  because  so  un- 
consciously instinctive;  it  is  crude  without  being  uncouth;  in- 
deed, replete  with  a  certain  rude  finesse,  and  although  brushed 
in  broadly,  is  relieved  by  an  arabesque  of  light  and  shade.  It 
has  its  subtleties,  however  unsuitable  such  a  term  may  seem  for 
a  thing  so  naive;  but  its  subtleties  represent  the  quiver  and 
variety  of  natural  instincts.  Shall  one  compare  them  to  the 
trembling  diversity  of  the  web  of  sunlight  and  shadow,  which 
the  foliage  of  a  forest  tree,  swinging  in  the  breeze,  weaves  upon 
the  ground  beneath  it?  The  breadth  of  nature's  passion  stirs 
the  limbs  of  the  dancers  to  rhythmic  movements  which  have 
the  charm  of  apparent  unpremeditation.  And  correspond- 
ingly natural  and  instinctive  is  the  coquetry  which  colours  the 
movements  of  both  the  dancers. 

Watch  them  for  a  moment.  The  man  approaches,  prepos- 
terously ornate.  A  black  swallow-tailed  coat  is  buttoned  over 
a  white  waistcoat;  his  striped  trousers  are  creased  to  a  knife's 
edge ;  his  feet  are  encased  in  varnished  shoes,  and  his  huge  paws 
in  lavender  kid  gloves,  while  a  silk  hat  is  set  jauntily  on  his 
head,  and  a  flower,  as  big  as  a  lettuce,  embellishes  his  button- 
hole. He  grins  with  immense  satisfaction  at  the  amazing  dash 
he  cuts;  but  this  extravagance  of  sartorial  equipment  does  not 
disguise  the  primitive  child-man  beneath  it.  The  very  touch 
of  his  foot  suggests  his  descent  from  endless  generations  of 

[260] 


ECCENTRIC   DANCING 

bare-footed  ancestry,  while  every  movement  of  the  body  and 
limbs  inside  the  sheath  of  tailoring  proclaims  his  heritage  of 
nakedness,  sensitive  at  every  pore  to  the  varying  contact  of 
the  atmosphere.  As  he  propels  his  chest,  squares  his  elbows 
and  points  his  fingers,  meanwhile  advancing  with  deliberate 
strut,  one  may  be  reminded  for  an  instant  of  the  muscovy 
drake.  But  the  impulse  to  smile  and  the  incongruity  of  the 
costume  are  alike  forgotten  in  the  fascination  of  the  man's 
movements  as  he  becomes  conscious  of  the  lady's  presence. 
With  a  tread  that  feels  the  floor  his  supple  body  glides  in 
sinuous  gyrations,  interrupted  now  and  again  by  a  start  and 
a  quiver  through  all  his  limbs.  Now  he  has  caught  the  lady's 
eye  and  fixes  her  attention.  His  gestures  become  more  ex- 
pansive; the  action  more  emphatic;  the  steps  and  combinations 
of  movement  more  difficult  and  intricate.  The  lady  begins  to 
echo  his  attentions  in  actions  of  her  own.  She  outstrips  the 
glories  of  Solomon  in  the  lavish  gaudiness  of  her  raiment,  but 
it  does  not  obscure  the  natural  grace  of  her  figure;  pliant  as 
a  young  willow  wand,  winding  as  vines,  as  elastic  in  its  convo- 
lutions as  a  tendril.  With  demure,  deprecating  twists  of  neck 
and  shoulders,  and  furtive  glances,  ignoring  and  challenging 
by  turns,  she  eyes  her  partner,  as  though  impartially  waiting 
for  him  to  prove  himself.  His  tall  wiry  form,  held  between 
whiles  erect  and  stately,  seems  every  now  and  then  to  disin- 

[261] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

tegrate  into  a  spasm  of  rapid  twirlings  of  loosened  joints. 
Wrists,  fingers,  hips,  knees,  ankles,  each  seems  hinged  inde- 
pendently and  liable  at  any  moment  to  revolve  on  its  own 
accoimt.  To  these  outbursts  the  lady  responds  with  steps  no 
less  rapid  though  somewhat  less  disjointed;  edging  away  with 
averted  head,  but  eyes  still  darting  challenges.  With  finesse 
worthy  of  a  French  woman,  a  subtle  twitch  of  her  petticoat 
reveals,  apparently  unconsciously,  a  momentary  glimpse  of 
shoe  and  stocking,  while  only  a  bashful  droop  of  the  head  and 
eyes  direct  attention  to  the  action.  And  then,  when  her  con- 
tinued indifference  to  his  most  exuberant  flourishes  has  dis- 
couraged her  energetic  young  partner,  with  the  same  apparent 
unconcern  the  little  lace  handkerchief  was  dropped  on  the  floor. 
And  oh!  what  a  start  of  astonishment  as,  picking  it  up  in  one 
whirling  action,  her  partner  presented  it  to  her  in  another! 
And  oh!  the  variety  and  elaborateness  of  the  curtsey  of  grat- 
itude! and  the  bows  of  overwhelmed  acknowledgment,  up  and 
down  the  whole  length  of  the  stage  they  extended.  And  of 
course  after  that  there  could  be  no  pretence,  on  the  lady's 
part,  of  ignoring  his  presence,  but,  by  an  exaggeration  of 
politeness,  he  must  be  made  to  feel  his  position.  And  the 
man!  As  is  the  way  of  the  primitive  male,  he  must  show  off 
at  first  and  exhibit  himself  in  all  his  glory,  and  show  what  a 
fine  fellow  he  is.     His  twirlings  are  diversified  by  leaps  and 

[262] 


ECCENTRIC   DANCING 

bounds  and  triumphant  stampings.  But  the  lady's  admiration 
soon  flags.  It  is  not  enough  to  admire  him.  She  wants 
adulation  and  devotion  for  herself,  but  she  must  not  make  the 
open  undisguised  bid  for  them  that  he  does.  She  must  tame 
this  self-confident  creature  until  it  is  of  her,  not  of  himself,  that 
his  mind  is  full.  Very  indifferently  and  gradually  she  moves 
from  him,  her  whole  attention  evidently  concentrated  on  the 
correct  arch  of  her  toe  as  she  places  it  on  the  ground.  Pretty 
soon  it  dawns  on  the  arrogantly  prancing  male  creature  that 
he  is  not  creating  the  impression  that  he  expects.  And  now 
it  is  his  turn  to  become  embarrassed  and  bashful  and  he  ap- 
proaches her  with  lingering,  dragging  step.  But  impish  hu- 
mour forbids  him  to  be  too  humble  in  his  approach  and  for  a 
time  they  play  the  game  of  self-absorbed  indifference,  each 
really  jealously  watching  the  other. 

Presently,  after  a  longer  spell  of  self -absorption,  they  collide. 
And  now  breaks  out  a  little  storm  of  fury  on  the  part  of  the 
lady.  She  is  really  offended  and  tosses  her  head  and  stamps 
her  foot  and  flirts  her  skirt  away  from  his  contaminating  touch; 
while  he  gives  himself  up  heart  and  soul  to  placating  the  of- 
fended divinity.  Round  and  round  her  he  circles  as  she  con- 
stantly averts  her  head,  until  at  last  he  intercepts  a  glance 
less  haughty  than  at  first.  The  depths  of  his  humiliation 
would  be  abject  if  it  were  not  for  the  mischievous  twinkle  of 

[263] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

his  eye,  which  just  waits  to  catch  the  answering  gleam  of  hers 
to  seize  her  outstretched  hand  and  whirl  her  off  into  a  madcap 
dance  of  reconcihation  and  triumph:  which  ends  the  httle 
comedietta. 

As  written,  there  is  little  to  distinguish  it  from  the  little 
Harlequin  or  Pierrot  and  Columbine  episodes  in  which  both 
French  and  Italian  ballets  used  to  abound.  But  in  the  actual 
performance  of  it  there  is  the  elusive  syncopation  which  is  ap- 
parent in  the  dancing  as  well  as  in  the  music  and  the  ever 
present  element  of  the  grotesque  which  is  fooling  even  in  its 
little  comedies.  There  are  none  of  the  airy  sentimentalities 
with  which  the  Italian  ballets  would  be  filled.  There  will  be 
a  certain  tricky  impishness  even  in  the  lady's  part;  gestures 
of  shoulder  and  arm  which  are  entirely  grotesque,  caricature 
rather  than  comedy.  But  that  is  the  native  genius  of  the  negro 
brought  in  touch  with  our  civilisation.  For  these  qualities  do 
not  belong  in  the  same  degree  to  the  aboriginal  African,  though 
the  syncopated  music  and  the  love  of  agile  dancing  are  his, 
native  and  irrepressible. 

But  by  no  means  all  the  eccentric  dances  owe  their  origin 
to  the  negro  dances.  Many  of  them  are  exhibitions  of  spon- 
taneous individuality  quite  impossible  to  classify  and  full  of 
vital  energy. 

Not  even  an  electric  spark  could  excel  the  vivaciousness  of 

[264] 


Photo,  by  White,  N.  Y. 

THEODORE  KOSLOFF  AS  FAVORITE  ARAB  OF  ZOBEIDE  IN  THE 
DANCE-DRAMA  "SHEHERAZADE" 


ECCENTRIC   DANCING 

the  best  of  these  eccentric  dancers.  What  a  marvellous  whirl 
of  energy  is  Bessie  Clayton.  Her  suppleness  and  absolute 
control  of  muscle  and  the  lightning  speed  of  her  movements 
leave  one  gasping.  She  is  here,  there  and  everywhere,  and 
always  buoyant,  light-hearted,  inconsequential  and  full  of  that 
restless,  tireless,  nervous  energy  that  animates  so  much  of 
American  life. 

For  the  mixture  of  the  humorous  and  grotesque  it  is  impos- 
sible to  imagine  anything  that  could  surpass  Montgomery  and 
Stone.  Not  only  are  the  physical  contortions  of  which  both, 
and  especially  Stone,  are  masters,  subjects  of  constant  aston- 
ishment and  a  refutation  of  all  theories  of  anatomy,  but  every- 
thing is  done  with  a  deftness  and  artistic  touch  which  raises  it 
far  above  mere  eccentric  contortion.  They  have  invented  and 
perfected  a  language  of  quaint  caricature  which  is  as  complete 
as  that  of  any  pantomimist  and  whose  vocabulary  is  constantly 
growing.  Their*  demonstration  of  expressive  power  without 
the  aid  of  words,  given  in  "The  Wizard  of  Oz,"  as  the  Scare- 
crow and  the  Tinman,  are  unforgettable. 

It  is  interesting  to  surmise  what  might  have  been  done  by 
these  and  other  artists  of  undoubted  equipment  if  they  had  been 
encouraged  to  develop  the  significant  side  of  their  art.  I  do 
not  believe  that  even  the  lovers  of  the  comical  would  have  been 
the  losers.    For  instance,  in  the  performance  of  "The  Wizard 

[267] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

of  Oz"  there  was  a  subtlety  of  suggestion  in  their  work,  a  dis- 
play of  human  feeling,  a  tenderness  for  the  child  spirit  that 
was  more  significant  and  of  deeper  appeal  than  anything  in 
which  they  have  subsequently  appeared.  And  yet  they  were 
no  less  humorous  and  certainly  their  seriousness  was  not  op- 
pressive. But  if  they  had  developed  that  subtle  expressive- 
ness of  the  real  emotions  which  belong  to  every  man,  however 
much  he  may  disguise  them  by  laughter  or  keen  worldliness, 
would  they  not  have  evolved  something  of  more  exquisite  and 
at  the  same  time  quite  as  general  appeal,  than  caricature?  It 
should  be  just  as  full  of  humour  as  their  present  work  and  not 
less  true  to  the  American  genius. 

An  eccentric  of  undeniable  humour  is  Mr.  Al  Leech,  whose 
specialty  is  to  portray  a  pathetic  helplessness  and  lack  of  con- 
trol of  all  his  limbs,  executing  thereby  manoeuvres  almost  in- 
credibly complicated  and  unfailingly  mirth-provoking.  His 
comic  pantomime  dancing  with  Miss  Nellie  Lynch  reveals 
brilliant  technique  on  the  part  of  both  executants.  One  of 
them  will  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  a  brilliantly  executed  "pas 
seul,"  seem  to  fliounder  and  only  save  himself  or  be  saved  by 
the  other  from  headlong  destruction  by  a  series  of  counterbal- 
ancings  which  seem  of  superhuman  execution.  The  skill  of 
the  evolutions  is  carefully  hidden  behind  a  veil  of  bewildered 
clumsiness;  but  the  labour  and  devotion  required  to  achieve 

[268] 


ECCENTRIC   DANCING 

such    a    technique    is    worthy    of    admiration    and    respect. 

There  is  absolute  lack  of  artistic  intention  in  these  per- 
formances, and  it  would  seem  as  if  that  in  itself  appeals  to  an 
average  audience.  The  aim  is  to  amuse,  purely  and  simply, 
and  the  many  performers  who  adopt  this  form  of  entertain- 
ment labour  hard  to  achieve  their  aim  and  are  content  if  they 
succeed. 

A  very  neat  and  effective  piece  of  work  is  done  by  Moon  and 
Morris,  in  a  dance  in  which,  pressed  closely  together,  they  du- 
plicate each  other's  work  with  such  precision  of  feeling  that 
they  seem  like  one  person  endowed  with  double  quota  of  limbs, 
heads  and  torsos.  They  differ  in  size  and  build,  but  that  only 
makes  the  unity  of  feeling  more  uncanny,  so  thoroughly  do 
they  convey  the  impression  of  being  controlled  by  one  brain 
centre  which  directs  these  varying  forms. 

The  "Texas  Tommy"  dancers  are  perhaps  more  acrobatic 
than  eccentric.  Their  evolutions  require  that  absolute  pre- 
cision and  dexterity  of  movement,  that  sureness  of  eye  and  ex- 
act sense  of  timing,  that  are  needed  in  trapeze  performances 
and  acrobatic  displays.  There  is,  however,  a  certain  wild,  nerv- 
ous verve,  an  exuberance  of  energy  and  vitality  in  their  won- 
derful tours  de  forces  that  suggests  the  purely  physical  well- 
being  of  hardy  bodies  with  muscles  all  taut,  clear  eye  and  cool 
head,  of  the  folks  who  live  out  of  doors,  who  eat  with  good  appe- 

[269] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

tite,  sleep  the  moment  their  head  touches  whatever  may  happen 
to  be  the  pillow,  waken  alert  and  vigorous,  work  with  a  zest, 
be  it  for  two  hours  or  twenty,  and  play  with  the  same  zest 
when  work  is  done.  Such  men  and  women  look  death  in  the 
face  without  wincing,  accept  reverses  without  whimpering,  and 
share  their  good  fortunes  with  their  comrades.  Their  play  is 
hkely  to  be  as  tense  as  their  work,  but  it  can  appreciate  dex- 
terity and  precision  of  method  and  enjoy  the  sense  of  mastery 
that  the  superior  possession  of  these  qualities  enhances. 

It  is  the  sureness  of  his  mastery  of  the  use  of  his  lasso  that 
enables  the  Texas  cowboy  to  sit  his  pony  unconcernedly  before 
the  onrush  of  a  wild  steer  with  blood  in  its  eye.  He  is  con- 
scious that  at  just  the  right  moment  he  can  throw  the  lasso  over 
hoof  or  horns,  and  guide  his  pony  to  just  the  required  angle 
to  withstand  the  jerk  which  shall  land  his  quarry  on  the  ground. 
His  judgment  must  be  quick  and  cool,  his  eye  sure,  his  hand 
steady,  his  knowledge  of  the  amount  of  energy  to  put  into  his 
throw  unerring,  his  sense  of  time  to  throw  and  time  to  brace 
himself  for  the  pull  faultless.  His  grasp  must  be  firm  and  his 
hand  strong,  but  he  must  know  too  how  to  make  it  gentle  and 
soothing.  And  all  these  points  come  out  in  the  romping  gaiety 
of  these  Texas  dancers.  The  whirl  which  spins  his  partner 
toward  the  footlights  with  such  momentum  that  without  aid 
she  must  assuredly  fly  across  them,  must  be  nicely  adjusted  so 

[270] 


ECCENTRIC   DANCING 

that  in  neither  force  nor  direction  shall  she  escape  the  restrain- 
ing grasp  of  his  hand  outstretched  just  at  the  right  moment  to 
arrest  her.  His  own  weight  must  be  braced  to  counterbalance 
hers,  for  here  is  no  soft  earth  into  which  he  can  dig  the  high 
heel  of  his  boot  to  gain  a  purchase.  Poise  and  gentleness  of 
handling  must  regulate  the  seemingly  fierce  toss  of  his  partner, 
first  in  air,  then  toward  the  ground,  otherwise  she  would  be  bat- 
tered to  pieces  across  the  outstretched  leg  over  which  he  bends 
her  before  restoring  her  to  normal  balance.  And  the  girl  must 
yield  herself  entirely  to  the  controlling  energy  of  her  compan- 
ion, for  an  unpremeditated  movement  or  a  divergence  of  action 
would  be  disastrous.  Grit,  cool-headedness  and  controlled 
energy,  these  are  the  forces  that  are  called  into  play  and  that 
make  the  performance  exhilarating.  In  its  essential  naivete 
and  suggestion  of  wholesome  and  careless  horseplay  it  presents 
a  marked  contrast  to  the  grim  "throw-back"  to  savagery  dis- 
played in  those  dances  originating  in  Paris  which  depict  the 
psychology  of  the  "Apache"  of  the  slums  of  that  city.  They 
have  been  seen  in  this  country  usually  in  the  cabarets. 

This  dance  of  the  underworld  is  neither  comedy  nor  farce; 
hut  starkest  melodrama.  Nor  is  it  an  expression  of  natural 
instincts ;  but  rather  of  instincts  distorted  and  polluted  by  long 
divorce  from  nature.  It  reeks  of  the  fetid  atmosphere  of 
crowded  slums  from  which  the  wholesomeness  of  nature's  sun- 

[271] 


DANCING  AND  DANCERS  OF  TODAY 

shine  has  long  been  excluded.  Its  emotions  have  nothing  of 
the  healthy  colouring  of  natural  instincts ;  they  are  the  products 
of  perverted  instincts.  But  the  expression  of  the  dance  is 
strangely  forcible,  and  presents  an  epitome  of  the  miasma  which 
exhales  from  the  crowding  together  of  human  beings  without 
the  restraining  influence  of  social  conventions.  In  the  case 
of  the  man,  it  represents  that  most  odious  result  of  decadence 
^—contempt  of  the  female ;  in  the  latter's  case,  its  horrible  coun- 
terpart— ^the  abject  submission  of  the  female  to  the  male's  sav- 
agery. 

And  the  forms  of  this  dance  are  inevitably  the  complete  con- 
tradiction of  natural  movements  and  rhythms.  Their  savagery 
has  no  suggestion  of  the  breezy  spaciousness  and  freedom  of 
the  natural  savage  life.  Every  movement  is  constrained; 
every  gesture  stiff,  angular  and  confined,  as  if  bred  from  con- 
stant jostling  with  other  bodies  in  a  crowded  narrowness. 
Corresponding  to  the  crampness  of  the  movements  is  the  lack 
of  fluency  and  continuity  in  their  combinations,  the  tempo  of 
the  dance  is  jerky;  with  intervals  of  sluggishness  and  bursts 
of  delirious  speed;  a  very  denial  of  rhythm,  every  movement 
seeming  to  be  the  result  of  a  sudden  impulse  that  disdains  con- 
trol. 

Let  us  picture  the  scene;  it  is  a  small  cabaret  with  marble- 
topped  tables  extending  down  the  length  of  it  on  each  side,  so 

[272] 


Photo,  by  Mishkin  Studio,  N.  Y. 

ANNA  PAVLOWA  AND  MIKAIL  MORDKIN  IN  A  "  BACCHANALE  " 


ECCENTRIC   DANCING 

as  to  leave  a  promenade  in  the  centre.  The  dim  light  of  a  few 
gas-jets  is  further  obscured  by  the  smoke  of  cigarettes;  the  at- 
mosphere hangs  like  a  pall  of  heaviness.  The  young  men  and 
women,  seated  at  the  tables,  seem  to  feel  its  weight.  There  is 
little  conversation,  still  less  laughter ;  they  sit  for  the  most  part 
moodily  beside  their  glasses  of  beer  or  sirop.  Here  and  there 
a  table  is  occupied  by  a  youth  and  girl ;  but  generally  the  girls 
keep  to  themselves,  while  the  youths  foregather  apart.  A  rat- 
tle-boned piano  is  labouring  with  a  waltz.  It  stirs  no  response 
from  the  company. 

Slowly,  however,  a  young  man  pulls  himself  up  from  the 
seat.  He  wears  a  drab  suit,  the  jacket  buttoned  tight  across 
his  narrow  chest,  a  neckcloth,  fastened  in  a  knot,  and  a  cloth 
cap,  close  down  on  one  side  of  his  head.  He  stands  with  one 
foot  slightly  advanced,  arms  hanging  down  and  shoulders  lifted 
to  the  prominent  ears.  His  thin  face  is  pallid  and  expression- 
less. He  saunters  down  the  promenade  between  the  tables. 
Each  foot  is  advanced  with  the  deliberation  of  a  cat's  and  lin- 
gers on  its  tread,  and  as  each  advances  its  side  of  the  body 
swings  slowly  forward;  so  that  the  stealthiness  of  the  move- 
ment winds  its  way  up  to  the  shoulders.  Only  the  head  with 
its  apathetic  mask  remains  rigid.  The  company  eyes  him  list- 
lessly. 

Suddenly,  his  body  droops  into  a  slightly  crouching  pose,  as 

[275] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

if  it  were  about  to  spring;  the  muscles  of  his  face  grow  tense; 
the  eyes  become  alert,  his  gaze  sweeps  the  row  of  tables 
and,  shifting  over,  sweeps  the  other.  It  halts  and  fixes  itself 
upon  the  face  of  one  of  the  girls.  She  feels  the  sway  of  it,  and 
seems  to  be  divided  between  compliance  and  repulsion.  But 
she  cannot  resist  it,  rises  sullenly  and,  as  if  she  were  being 
dragged,  lagging  upon  each  step,  approaches  the  man.  She  is 
near  him,  and  he  grips  her  wrist,  swings  her  body  against  his,, 
spins  round  and  round  with  her  and  flings  her  far  from  him. 
At  the  touch  of  his  fierceness  she  appears  to  be  both  afraid  and 
fascinated;  and  waits  motionless,  watching.  From  his  end  of 
the  floor  he  advances,  and  she  from  hers ;  he  retires  and  she  re- 
tires, her  steps  and  the  swaying  of  her  body  reproducing  his. 
He  seems  to  be  asserting  the  irresistibleness  of  his  attraction 
over  her  and  she  to  be  gradually  acknowledging  it.  The  fear 
is  slipping  from  her,  the  fascination  grows.  Her  face  loses  its 
sullenness;  becomes  animated  with  a  wistful  pleasure.  The 
man's  apathy  in  turn  relaxes;  his  expression  warms  to  con- 
descension, almost  kindly.  Her  pleasure  kindles ;  her  eyes  fol- 
low his  movements  with  admiration;  she  smiles  in  invitation. 
He  draws  her  to  him,  lays  his  arm  with  almost  a  caress  around 
her  waist,  shelters  her  body  with  his  own,  and  guides  it  through 
the  steps  and  revolutions  of  the  waltz.  ISIean while,  her  lithe 
figure  bends  and  turns  to  his  slightest  suggestion ;  she  looks  up 

[276] 


ECCENTRIC   DANCING 

into  his  eyes  and  he  feels  on  his  face  the  warm  breath  issuing 
from  her  parted  lips. 

Suddenly,  as  though  it  stung  him,  he  sets  his  hand  on  her 
throat  and  forces  her  head  back.  He  holds  it  so  a  moment,  as 
if  he  grasped  a  snake;  then  hurls  her  from  him.  He  will  be 
master;  not  even  the  allure  of  the  female  shall  sap  the  mastery 
of  the  male.  She  crouches,  panting,  submissive  to  and  fasci- 
nated by  his  strength,  tingling  too  with  pride  that  she  can  rouse 
it.  He  watches  her  with  cold,  concentrated  stare,  as  if  he  would 
pierce  her  through  and  through  with  the  consciousness  that  she 
is  only  a  plaything  to  his  hand.  She  has  risen  to  her  feet,  hu- 
mility and  pleading  in  her  eyes ;  slides  towards  him  with  falter- 
ing steps;  halts,  drops  her  gaze  and  bows  submissive  at  his 
feet.  He  is  appeased  and  raises  her;  again  embraces  her  with 
his  arm  and  resumes  the  waltz.  He  will  make  her  feel  that  the 
prerogative  to  woo  is  his.  He  holds  her  in  a  grip  of  steel;  so 
that  each  body  vibrates  to  the  least  movement  of  the  other. 
The  intricacy  of  the  steps  increases,  the  sway  of  the  bodies  be- 
comes more  sinuous,  the  pace  grows,  while  the  girl,  yielding 
herself  to  the  delirium  of  surrender,  leans  back  upon  the  man's 
arms  with  eyes  closed. 

Suddenly,  again,  he  hurls  her  from  him,  still  retaining  hold  of 
her  wrist,  so  that  they  stand  at  the  extremity  of  straightened 
arms;  he  cold  and  rigid,  she  quivering  with  excitement.     A 

[277] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS   OF   TODAY 

moment  so,  and  he  has  wrenched  her  back  into  his  arms  and 
again  spins  her  round  in  the  fury  of  the  waltz.  Again  he  hurls 
her  from  him,  and  again  with  increasing  violence  drags  her  back 
into  the  dance.  Again  and  still  again.  Then  he  varies  his 
ferocity  by  dashing  her  to  the  floor  and  fiercely  pulling  her  back 
onto  her  feet;  throws  her  this  way  and  that,  interrupting  the 
passion  of  the  dance  with  the  evidence  of  his  mastery  and  her 
impotence;  while  as  she  hangs  limp  in  his  grasp,  bent,  broken, 
crushed,  the  helpless  sport  of  her  own  desire  and  his  imperious 
will,  her  absolute  submission  goads  his  passionate  fury,  until 
the  dance  quickens  to  a  mad  accelerando;  then,  on  an  instant, 
stops.  The  man  has  forced  the  girl's  body  across  his  thigh, 
thrust  her  head  back  with  one  hand  and  with  the  other  makes 
a  motion  as  if  to  cut  her  throat. 

No  I  it  is  not  a  pleasant  melodrama;  but  one  of  weird  and 
fearful  fascination. 

In  one  short  chapter  there  can  be  no  attempt  to  review  all 
that  is  being  done  in  the  various  forms  of  eccentric  dancing  at 
the  present  time,  or  to  call  to  mind  the  names  of  all  who  are 
doing  admirable  work.  The  few  already  mentioned  here  have 
been  chosen  rather  as  being  typical  of  the  different  lines  of  work 
which  are  finding  favour  and  evoking  such  response  from  the 
public  as  to  make  them  seem  to  be  the  expression  of  some  phase 
of  general  sentiment.    But  of  one  thing  there  seems  to  be  no 

[278] 


ECCENTRIC   DANCING 

doubt,  and  that  is  that  the  dance  is  looked  to  at  the  present  time 
with  an  increasing  expectation.  A  general  recognition  is 
abroad  that  there  is  more  in  it  than  mere  display  of  pretty- 
figures  and  agility.  As  yet  there  is  a  large  public  which  does 
not  quite  know  what  it  is  that  they  may  expect  from  the  revival 
of  artistic  dancing.  They  have  been  somewhat  misled  by  the 
various  *'Salomes"  to  think  that  there  must  be  an  element  of 
the  morbid  in  it.  But  even  so,  people  are  awakened  to  the  fact 
that  there  are  qualities  to  be  looked  for  which  appeal  to  some 
innate  sense  higher  than  mere  appreciation  of  agility  or  admira- 
tion of  prettiness.  They  are  finding  that  there  is  a  power  in 
the  subtle  imagery  of  the  dance  that  speaks  to  the  imagination 
more  dehcately  and  more  vividly  than  any  literal  portrayal  of 
facts  can  do :  that  there  is  no  human  emotion,  grave  or  gay,  be- 
yond the  powers  of  this  imagery  to  portray:  and  that  the  mere 
mechanism  of  dancing,  robbed  of  this  emotional  appeal,  is  a  dead 
thing  which  may,  by  its  skill,  evoke  surprise  but  cannot  continue 
to  hold  the  interest  or  add  to  our  joy  of  living. 


[S79] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

FOLK  DANCING 

ON'E  of  the  beneficial  results  of  the  reawakening  of  the 
art  spirit  in  dancing  is  that  it  has  enforced  the  con- 
sciousness that  dancing  is  not  only  a  beautiful  art  to 
be  enjoyed  by  the  few,  but  is  the  natural  heritage  of  all  the 
people  and  especially  of  the  young.  It  is  true  that  all  arts 
should  belong  to  the  whole  race  and  happily  this  fact  is  becom- 
ing recognised  by  our  educators.  But  dancing,  the  simplest, 
most  spontaneous  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  complex  and 
all  embracing  of  the  arts,  is  not  only  a  privilege  to  which  young 
people  are  entitled  but  it  is  a  need  of  their  nature.  In  our 
crowded  modern  cities,  where  the  dwellings  of  the  people  are 
cramped  and  restricted,  the  absolute  need  of  this  outlet  is  keenly 
felt  and  it  is  one  of  the  most  hopeful  signs  of  our  modern 
consciousness  of  the  rights  of  youth  that  there  is  a  growing 
endeavour  to  meet  this  need  in  a  sane  and  safe  way. 

School-boards,  settlements,  open-air  playgrounds,  every 
agency  in  fact  that  is  working  for  the  betterment  of  living 
conditions,  recognise  this  need  and  the  response  to  their  effort 
is  immediate.     Nor  is  it  only  the  young  people  who  seek  to  take 

[280] 


FOLK   DANCING 

advantage  of  the  opportunity  thus  offered.  It  is  ahnost  pa- 
thetic to  see  the  older  women,  sometimes  mothers  of  families, 
who  present  themselves  as  candidates  for  these  classes.  They 
are  nearly  all  foreign  born  and  usually  belong  to  races  more 
vivacious  in  their  self-expression  than  the  Anglo-Saxon.  Pos- 
sibly some  of  them  remember  the  dances  of  their  own  country 
but  are  too  self-conscious  to  speak  of  them.  Anyway  the  de- 
sire for  this  form  of  self-expression  is  natural  to  them  and, 
happily,  the  day  is  past  when  the  puritan  ascendency  is  al- 
lowed to  bar  it  out.  There  is  even  hope  that  the  old-time  re- 
proach, that  the  emigrant  to  this  Land  of  Hope  forgets  how  to 
sing  and  dance,  will  be  obliterated.  In  time  the  betterment  of 
conditions  in  this  new  country  may  be  shown  not  only  in  the 
form  of  a  savings-bank  book  but  in  the  happy  sound  of  singing 
voices  and  the  glad  dances  of  the  young  people  throughout  the 
land. 

So  here,  in  this  young  and  vigorous  civilisation,  we  are  in- 
viting the  children  to  express  their  sense  of  joy  and  wellbeing, 
in  the  world-old  way  in  which,  with  differences  only  of  form  and 
manner,  their  forebears  have  been  expressing  themselves  all 
down  the  ages. 

The  children  are  gathering  together  on  the  green  lawn  of 
Central  Park.  The  trees  have  just  robed  themselves  in  their 
freshest,  gayest  mantles.     The  horse-chestnut's  white  or  pink 

[283] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

spires  point  upward  like  candles  on  a  Christmas  tree.  The  dog- 
wood blossoms  cluster  white  and  cool.  Rhododendrons  blush 
and  glow  in  their  gorgeous  colourings.  Beneath  the  feet  is  the 
springy  emerald  turf,  overhead  the  cloudless  sapphire  sky. 
Winter  is  past  and  Spring  has  decorated  the  great  out-of-doors 
to  be  our  playhouse  for  the  Summer. 

The  children  come  in  groups  and  companies  in  white  robes, 
bright  ribbons,  some  with  chaplets  of  flowers  on  their  heads. 
They  form  into  groups,  and,  what  is  more  natural  and  inevi- 
table, they  dance  and  sing.  Here  are  little  kings  and  queens 
to  be  crowned  and  sceptred  with  solemn  ceremonies.  Oh,  yes, 
we  are  good  republicans,  democrats  or  even  socialists;  but  we 
will  not  refuse  homage  to  these  symbols  of  the  sovereignty 
of  Youth  and  Spring  and  Merriment.  Look  at  them !  Do  the 
bright  eyes  and  quick  eager  gestures  of  the  little  queen  remind 
us  of  ancient  Celtic  Limousin  where,  on  the  "Coudert  des 
Maiades"  at  Merlines,  under  the  leafy  beechtree  her  ancestress 
was  crowned  "Regina  Avrilloza"  and  sang  the  "Calenda  Maia" 
or  Welcome  to  Spring? 

Or  perhaps  the  blond-haired,  sturdy  boy,  her  partner,  is 
lineal  descendant  of  some  bold  Robin  Hood,  who  played  a 
valiant  part  in  the  old  Morris  dances  on  the  English  village 
green.  Maybe  the  grandsire  was  one  of  the  champions  of  the 
dance,  who,  bells  on  knees,  and  short  staff  in  hand,  footed  it 

[284] 


FOLK   DANCING 

smartly,  with  steps  and  flourishes,  a  match  for  any  man  for  fifty 
parishes  around.  For  there  was  much  rivalry  in  these  quaint 
dances  among  the  men  of  difl'erent  villages,  both  in  skill  and 
costume.  No  man,  therefore,  appeared  at  the  dance  "unmor- 
riced" ;  his  women  folk  would  see  to  it  that  he  was  equipped  with 
feather  or  posy  in  hat,  garters  trimmed  with  many  little  bells 
and  streamers  of  long  ribbons  attached  to  the  arms.  Note, 
by  the  way,  the  London  East-Sider  of  to-day,  the  "Arry,"  as  he 
is  called,  going  out  for  an  excursion  or  picnic  on  his  Whitsun 
bank-hoHday.  In  his  exuberant  joy  fulness  he  decorates  his  hat 
with  a  feather,  made  of  cut  paper  of  fanciful  hues.  Is  this  the 
poor  remnant  of  his  "Morris"  bravery? 

Every  village  evidently  arranged  and  invented  its  own 
Morris  and  was  proud  of  its  special  features.  On  one  occasion 
we  find  a  record  of  a  Morris  danced  entirely  by  old  men,  for 
originally  the  Morris  was  exclusively  a  man's  dance,  one  of  the 
group  being  disguised  as  a  woman  and  called  Maid  Marion. 
The  youngest  of  these  village  ancients  on  this  occasion  was 
eighty-five  years  old  and  the  oldest  was  over  a  hundred  and 
five  I 

There  is  a  stained  glass  window  in  Betley,  Staffordshire,  of 
a  period  not  later  than  Edward  IV,  which  represents  Morris 
dancers,  in  bells  and  streamers,  showing  that  the  dance  was  an 
established  tradition  even  in  that  day.    And  one  of  the  original 

[2851 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF    TODAY 

actors  of  Shakespeare's  plays,  one  Kemp,  the  creator  of  the 
parts  of  Dogberry  in  "Much  Ado  About  Nothing,"  and  Peter 
in  "Romeo  and  Juliet,"  performed  a  Morris  from  London  to 
Norwich,  a  distance  of  114  miles.  This  was  called  the  *'Nine 
Days  Wonder." 

The  name  "Morris"  dance  implies  its  origin,  for  it  signifies 
Moorish.  It  was  brought  to  England  from  Spain  or  some 
country  near  it.  Anyway,  the  dance  is  found  in  Portugal, 
Vendome  and  the  Basque  Provinces.  The  figures  differ  a 
little  from  the  English,  especially  in  the  use  of  the  swords  in 
place  of  the  short  stick  which  the  English  dancer  holds  and 
which  doubtless  was  formerly  a  knife  or  dagger.  These  swords, 
crossed  on  the  ground,  are  substituted  for  the  long  clay  pipes, 
around  which  the  English  dancers  performed  a  lively  step 
skilled  to  avoid  touching  them  with  their  feet  or  in  any  way  jar- 
ring or  breaking  them.  In  the  Morrises  of  all  countries  songs 
are  introduced. 

The  Morris  dance  has  never  entirely  died  out  in  England. 
It  has  survived  in  remote  villages  and  in  the  annals  of  the  old 
people.  The  present  writer  has  seen  in  one  of  the  coal  mining 
towns  of  Durham  a  party  of  Morris  dancers,  who  had  come  in 
from  a  neighbouring  village,  dancing  through  the  principal 
streets  of  the  town.  A  special  study  of  these  dances  has  been 
made  by  Miss  Mary  Neal,  of  England,  who  introduced  them  to 

[286] 


FOLK  DANCING 

this  country  with  the  aid  of  Miss  Florence  Warren.  She  has 
discovered  many  a  quaint  tradition  and  humorous  old  song, 
hidden  away  in  the  memory  of  some  old  grandfather,  who  has 
imparted  to  her  its  mysteries  to  be  handed  on  to  gladden  another 
generation. 

For  we  must  come  back  to  our  children  at  Central  Park. 
Here  are  a  group,  gaily  winding  the  ribbons  around  a  May-pole. 
Bright  streamers  that  can  be  plaited  by  skilful  intertwining 
into  all  sorts  of  gay  devices.  How  many  of  these  are  here  by 
right  of  inheritance?  The  descendants  of  the  Briton,  of  course, 
for  even  in  the  early  Colonial  days  of  this  country  they  brought 
their  May-poles  to  the  land  across  the  seas,  and  danced  around 
them  until  the  stern  Puritan  frowned  them  down.  And  the 
black-eyed,  sturdy  Italian  peasant  has  a  right  to  the  dance  which 
her  ancestors  danced  from  the  time  of  ancient  Rome;  and  so 
has  the  happy  faced  little  German  whose  heart  goes  out  to  a 
May-fest  by  the  most  natural  of  inherited  instincts;  yes,  and 
this  slim,  black-eyed,  straight-featured  little  Greek.  Ah!  she 
has  the  best  right  of  all.  For  centuries  and  centuries  ago  her 
forebears  greeted  the  coming  of  the  Spring  with  joyous  dances. 
Moreover,  the  triumph  of  Theseus  over  the  Minotaur,  whose 
labyrinth  he  penetrated  fearlessly  with  the  clue  furnished  by 
Ariadne,  was  celebrated  by  maidens  who,  holding  in  their  hands 
cords  or  streamers,  wound  them  around  a  central  figure  in  in- 

[287] 


DANCING  AND  DANCERS  OF  TODAY 

tricate  patterns;  surely,  the  prototype  of  the  May-pole  dance. 
So  the  gay  ribbons  in  the  hands  of  the  children,  gathered  to- 
gether in  Central  Park,  the  future  citizens  of  this  vigorous, 
young  nation,  stretch  back  through  the  ages,  uniting  them  to 
us  with  a  joyous  bond,  expressive  of  the  instinct  of  happiness 
that  has  kept  alive  the  love  of  art  and  beauty  to  bloom  and 
brighten  our  lives  today. 

But  there  are  other  dances  just  as  ancient.  See  that  group 
of  tiny  tots,  hardly  more  than  babies,  with  linked  hands  circling 
round  a  little  central  figure.  They  do  not  know  it,  but  they 
are  dancing  the  oldest  form  of  organised  dance,  the  Round  or 
Rondo.  They  are  singing  as  they  dance  a  simple  little  couplet, 
with  many  repetitions ;  is  it  a  Branle  of  ancient  Auvergne?  One 
little  one  stands  in  the  middle  and  from  thence  chooses  and 
salutes  a  partner  to  the  singing  of  its  companions.  It  is  the 
"Wedding  Round"  danced  in  mediaeval  Europe  which  was  so 
beloved  that  in  1574  a  bequest  was  made  by  a  painter  which  en- 
dowed annually  two  young  couples  from  the  proceeds  of  his 
fortune,  on  the  condition  that  on  their  wedding  day  they  danced 
the  Wedding  Round  about  his  grave.  The  Wedding  Round 
authorised  the  kissing  of  the  selected  partner  and  is  the  original 
of  the  old  English  game  of  "kiss-in-the-ring."  Indeed,  in  the 
freer  manner  of  those  old  times,  kissing  formed  a  part  of  many 
of  the  old  Folk  dances,  especially  the  "Branles,"  or,  as  they  were 

[288] 


FOLK  DANCING 

called  in  Old  England,  "Brawls,"  and  there  was  a  certain  little 
flourish  of  the  pipes  or  fiddle  which  was  the  recognised  signal 
to  thus  "Salute  your  partner." 

As  the  mothers  and  grandmothers  watch  our  tiny  dancers, 
circling  in  the  round,  do  any  of  them  think  of  those  Midsummer 
Nights,  when  in  a  far-off  country  the  bonfires  were  lighted 
outside  of  the  towns  and  villages  at  night,  and  hand  in  hand 
the  dancers  wound  around  them?  How  many  hundreds  of 
years  those  bonfires  have  flared  and  flickered  as  the  moving 
forms  silhouetted  against  them,  now  for  one  minute  showing 
brightly  illuminated,  now  lost  in  the  shadows.  There  was  a 
time,  doubtless,  that  it  was  a  rite,  sacred  to  some  Fire  God, 
full  of  mysterious  portent.  Through  mediaeval  Europe  it  still 
is  "St.  John's  Eve,"  but  the  more  ancient  faith  peopled  the  dark 
shadows  of  the  woods  and  mountains  with  spirits,  whose  earthly 
sway  was  of  more  than  ordinary  power  on  this  fateful  night, 
and  who  were  somehow  appeased  or  subdued  by  the  blazing 
fire  and  dancing  forms.  All  through  Europe  we  find  the 
custom  extending  back  to  the  remotest  times,  rich  in  folk  lore 
and  tradition,  diff*ering  slightly  according  to  locality  but  with 
the  main  idea  unchanged.  And  here  in  the  new  country  the 
superstitions  must  be  abandoned,  but  the  circling  figures  shall 
still  remind  us  of  the  past  and  when  Midsummer  day  is  here  we 
will  seek  some  woody  spot  and  watch  the  darting  fireflies, 

[291] 


DANCING  AND  DANCERS  OF  TODAY 

weaving  their  glowing  rounds,  combining  both  fire  and  dancer 
in  their  own  tiny  entity. 

The  Round  or  Rondo  in  all  its  forms  has  been  appropriated 
by  the  smallest  of  our  dancers.  The  kindergarten  has  taken 
it  as  the  natural  primitive  expression  of  the  race  and  uses  the 
instinct  for  the  enjoyment  and  development  of  these  budding 
natures.  Some  of  the  dancers  advance  and  retreat  in  circle, 
singing  the  while,  as  in  the  Sardinian  Round  and  the  Douro- 
douro  dance  of  the  Arabs.  So  that  even  those  of  the  little 
dancers  of  Central  Park  whose  features  betray  their  Oriental 
origin  are  not  intruders  in  these  dances. 

Now  as  we  watch  the  dancers  we  see  two  lines  facing  each 
other,  performing  figures  and  weaving  up  and  down  the  line. 
This  is  the  old  "Country  Dance,"  or  "Contre-Danse"  in  its 
more  stately  name.  For  it  was  popular  in  France  and 
England  not  only  among  the  peasant  folk  but  in  the  court  and 
social  functions  and  found  its  way  even  into  ballets.  Let  us 
look  for  the  blond-haired,  straight-limbed  Scandinavians  in  this 
dance.  For  the  swing  of  it  is  in  their  blood  and  even  the  most 
recently  arrived  may  have  seen  it  in  their  own  native  land. 
Watch  the  firm  robust  sway  of  it.  It  is  a  game  and  dance  com- 
bined. Not  unlike  it  is  the  Bourree  of  Auvergne,  with  its 
stamp  of  sabots  to  the  tune  of  that  truly  out-of-door  music 
maker,  the  bagpipes.    Its  tones  may  be  droning  and  monoto- 

[292] 


FOLK   DANCING 

nous  at  times  but  when  it  does  kindle  into  fervour  what  a  deliri- 
ous abandon  it  can  express!  France,  Spain,  Italy,  as  well  as 
Scotland  have  echoed  its  keening  or  thrilled  with  the  passion  of 
its  skirl. 

For  it  is  not  unworthy  of  note  that  much  of  the  liveliest  of 
the  Folk  dancing  has  grown  up  to  the  tune  of  the  bagpipes. 
The  Scottish  reels.  Highland  flings  and  so  forth  can  hardly 
be  surpassed  for  vigour  and  spirit  and  contradict  the  motion 
of  solemnity  or  "dourness"  with  which  some  people  have  been 
inclined  to  invest  the  character  of  the  Scot.  Indeed  there  is 
no  sight  more  inspiriting  than  four  stalwart  Highlanders  in 
their  tartans,  such  as  may  occasionally  be  seen  in  the  camps  of 
Highland  regiments,  dancing  a  fling,  accompanied  by  sharp 
cries,  the  snapping  of  fingers  and  the  world-without-end  dron- 
ing of  the  pipes  and  the  wild  skirl  of  the  chanters  with  which 
the  players  urge  the  dancers  on  to  further  eff'orts.  The  short 
fluttering  kilt,  the  twinkling  of  white  spats  and  parti-coloured 
hose,  the  light  deftness  with  which  intricate  movements  are 
made  and  the  vigour  and  the  whirl  of  the  powerful  forms;  es- 
pecially when  the  dance  is  out  of  doors,  lighted  by  flaming 
torches,  flickering,  high  in  the  hands  of  other  kilted  giants ;  the 
splashes  of  light  throwing  the  scene  into  bold  relief  amidst  the 
gloom  of  shadowy  trees,  present  a  picture,  vivid,  stirring  and  un- 
forgettable.    But  though  bagpipes  may  be  lacking  for  the  chil- 

[293] 


DANCING   AND   DANCERS    OF    TODAY 

dren's  dances  we  still  have  the  Scottish  reels  and  Highland 
flings  and  dances  from  other  lands  where  the  bagpipes  wake 
the  echoes  of  the  hills.  For  here  are  Czardas,  Mazurkas, 
Tarentellas,  Farandoles,  Skoals  Syvsprings,  and  many  more, 
representative  of  every  nation  in  Europe,  the  symbol  of  the  joy 
and  merriment  that  have  kept  the  hearts  of  their  ancestors 
warm  and  hopeful  through  the  long  centuries.  And  not  only 
the  joy;  for  in  many  of  the  countries  of  the  old  world  even  the 
griefs  and  bereavements  were  commemorated  by  a  dance,  so 
truly  was  the  dance  the  art  expression  of  their  lives.  And 
in  this  connection  there  is  a  pathetically  quaint  little  song  which 
accompanies  a  dance  belonging  to  old  French  Flanders,  which 
was  wont  to  be  used  by  her  companions  at  the  funeral  of  a 
young  girl.  The  following  translation  is  found  in  Mrs.  Lilly 
Grove's  History  of  the  Dance : 


Up  in  Heaven  they  dance  to-day, 

Alleluia. 
The  young  maidens  dance  and  play. 
They  sing  as  they  dancing  go. 
Benedicamus  Domino. 
Alleluia,  Alleluia. 
'Tis  for  Rosalie  they  sing 

Alleluia. 

[294] 


FOLK  DANCING 

She  has  done  with  sorrowing, 
So  we  dance  and  sing  we  so. 
Benedicamus  Domino. 
Alleluia,  Alleluia. 

Such  sentiment  allied  to  dancing  shows  how  far  it  was  from 
being  simply  a  social  exercise.  It  was  indeed  the  art  of  ex- 
pression of  the  simple,  unlearned  folk;  and  realising  this  the 
training  of  our  school  children  in  the  dance  takes  on  a  new 
significance.  Far  more  than  literature  or  painting  or  even 
music  does  it  make  the  first  general  appeal  for  beauty  to  those 
whose  lives  have  had  too  little  contact  with  the  beautiful.  It 
needs  no  explanation,  it  speaks  for  itself.  For  we  are  so  con- 
stituted that  while  we  are  executing  beautiful  and  graceful 
movements  our  minds  turn  subconsciously  to  the  gentle  and 
sweeter  channels.  Watch  the  faces  of  the  children  as  they 
dance  and  see  how  they  refine  and  sweeten.  I  do  not  remember 
ever  to  have  seen  a  coarse  or  vulgar  expression  on  any  face  of 
the  hundreds  who  danced.  It  is  truly  a  powerful  lever  that  is 
being  used,  and  the  only  pity  is  that  its  use  cannot  continue 
even  after  school  days  are  over. 

The  teaching  of  dancing  in  the  Public  Schools  of  New  York 
City  was  originally  started  by  the  Girls'  Athletic  League  in 
1905.  A  similar  organisation  for  boys  had  been  in  operation 
since  1903  under  the  leadership  of  Dr.  Luther  Gulick.    The 

[295] 


DANCING  AND   DANCERS    OF   TODAY 

problem  confronting  the  organisation  for  girls  was  a  difficult 
one.  There  are  very  few  open-air  playgrounds  accessible  to  the 
school  children  of  lower  New  York  so  that  all  recreations  pro- 
vided must  be  thoroughly  organised  so  as  to  admit  of  their  being 
enjoyed  in  a  restricted  space.  It  was  recognised  that  the 
problem  of  athletics  for  girls  must  be  solved  in  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent manner  from  that  for  boys ;  that  many  sports  and  exer- 
cises useful  and  invigorating  for  boys  are  injurious  and  unsuited 
to  girls.  For  this  reason  Miss  Elizabeth  Burchenal,  the  Secre- 
tary of  the  Girls'  Athletic  League,  early  in  the  evolutionary 
stages  of  the  League,  asked  for  replies  from  a  number  of  the 
highest  authorities  in  physical  education,  physicians  and  educa- 
tors, to  a  set  of  questions  as  to  the  comparative  value  of  various 
forms  of  exercise  for  girls.  The  result  was  that  of  the  exercises 
considered  "especially  beneficial  and  suitable,"  dancing  heads 
the  list.  Of  the  "best  loved,  most  commonly  practised  and  with 
greatest  primitive  appeal"  the  unanimity  of  the  answers  in 
favour  of  dancing  was  remarkable. 

Of  its  recognition,  then,  as  healthful  and  beneficial  there  was 
no  doubt.  But  even  so,  it  seems  probable  that  only  few  of  the 
pioneers  of  this  great  movement  realised  the  wonderful  outlet 
that  they  were  opening  to  the  children  on  the  expressional  side. 
Miss  Burchenal  herself  knew  it  and  has  always  worked  to  pro- 
mote its  highest  efficiency  on  the  expressional  side,  as  well  as 

[296] 


1  ^ 

2  O 

O 

w 
ca 

en 


2 

!/} 

O 

en 
o 

O 
> 


FOLK   DANCING 

fostering  the  traditions  of  the  countries  from  whence  the  Folk 
Dances  were  derived.  But  these  qualities  and  their  benefit  to 
children  whose  home  lives  offer  them  few  if  any  occasions  for 
self-expression  in  the  direction  of  beauty,  has  been  a  surprise 
to  many.  And  that  it  has  been  appreciated  is  shown  by  the 
fact  that  the  work  of  teaching  has  frequently  been  done  volun- 
tarily for  the  sake  of  the  pleasure  that  the  dancing  brings  not 
to  the  pupils  only  but  to  the  teachers  themselves. 

The  work  of  the  Athletic  League  was  recognised  by  the 
Board  of  Education  and  made  part  of  the  Public  School  sys- 
tem in  1909.  To  New  York,  therefore,  belongs  the  honour 
of  having  been  the  pioneer  in  the  introduction  of  dancing  into 
the  system  of  public  education.  In  doing  so  they  formally 
admitted  the  rights  of  the  children  to  this  their  natural  in- 
heritance and  established  the  value  of  the  dance  as  the  elemen- 
tary approach  to  all  arts.  For  it  is  certain  that  it  will  be  easier 
to  appeal  for  a  sense  of  form,  rhythm,  harmony  and  balance 
to  a  child  who  has  felt  something  of  all  of  these  laws  in  her  own 
person  than  to  one  to  whom  these  are  but  words. 

Very  wisely,  the  Athletic  League  discourages  anything  in 
the  nature  of  a  display  of  these  little  dancers.  They  dance  for 
themselves,  not  for  an  audience.  Even  on  their  fete  days  in 
the  parks  no  attempt  is  made  to  induce  the  public  to  attend. 
But  there  is  ever  an  attendant  throng  of  parents  and  friends 

[299] 


DANCING  AND  DANCERS  OF  TODAY 

whose  eager  faces  show  the  delight  which  has  been  added  to 
their  lives  by  the  recognition  of  this  impulse  toward  life  and 
beauty.  And  with  what  a  tone  of  pride  will  one  of  the  specta- 
tors say,  "Yes,  I  know  that  dance,  I  danced  it  when  I  was  a 
girl,  way  back  in  the  Old  Country."  And  the  children  find  that 
after  all  what  is  beautiful  in  the  Old  Country  is  worthy  to  sur- 
vive amidst  all  the  modern  improvements  of  the  New. 

Many  cities  have  followed  the  example  of  New  York  in  add- 
ing dancing  to  their  systems  of  public  education,  and  through- 
out the  land  much  good  work  is  being  done  in  private  institu- 
tions for  its  study  and  perfection.  Not  only  Folk  Dancing 
but  many  other  of  the  beautiful  forms  of  the  art,  especially 
natural  and  Greek  dancing,  are  taken  up  by  our  schools  and  col- 
leges, much  of  it  being  done  in  the  open  air.  Of  course  the 
same  long  arduous  study  is  not  expected  from  these  students  as 
is  given  by  those  who  intend  to  devote  their  lives  to  the  highest 
exposition  of  the  art,  but  enough  training  is  given  to  develop 
the  flow  of  feeling  through  the  body  until  it  becomes  a  natural 
instrument  of  expression  for  the  imaginative  and  spiritual 
forces. 

It  is  this  recognition  of  dancing  among  people  of  all  sorts 
as  a  means  of  cultivating  a  sense  of  beauty  as  well  as  an  ex- 
pression of  the  joy  of  life,  quite  as  much  as  the  presence  among 
us  of  the  great  artists,  that  makes  for  the  present  Renaissance 

[300] 


FOLK   DANCING 

of  the  Dance.  The  vital  motives  of  the  great  dancers  are  no 
longer  set  forth  in  a  dead  language  to  uncomprehending  ears, 
but,  because  of  the  experience  of  the  audience  in  the  art,  they 
evoke  a  response  that  is  imderstanding  and  give  increased 
pleasure. 

So  we  find  the  Dance  coming  to  be  once  more  a  part  of  the 
life  of  the  community,  the  natural  expression  of  joyousness. 
True  we  have  not  yet  invested  our  days  of  ceremony  with  any 
ritual  of  dance,  as  in  ancient  days.  But  it  would  no  longer 
seem  to  us  unnatural  or  childish  to  celebrate  our  national 
anniversaries,  our  school  or  college  fetes,  our  individual  com- 
memorations with  appropriate  dances.  And  if  the  form  of 
these  dances  should  crystallise  we  may  yet  develop  even  these 
ritual  dances.  For  so  the  cycle  turns  round  and  round  as  the 
world  progresses. 

The  Dance  Spirit  is  awakening,  not  as  a  passing  fad  of  the 
moment,  but  as  a  vigorous,  vital  element  of  our  modern  life. 


[301] 


>>Nt 


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